To the thief/thieves at the Herndon dog park on Sunday:
I hope it was worth it.
I hope the whopping $20 in my wallet and the $10 in coins (meant for our son’s first piggy bank, by the way) completely made your day and changed your life.
And while you were at it – rifling through my bag, and likely tossing everything you couldn’t spend immediately (hopefully you didn’t overlook the Home Depot and Crate and Barrel gift cards) – I hope you took a minute to appreciate the things that you acquired in your crime of opportunity.
- I hope you appreciated all my old school IDs and licenses, that I kept as a little trip down memory lane. And good luck trying to pronounce my name if you decide to try to use it for anything.
- I hope you appreciated the family photos in my wallet. I had senior portraits of my parents and my brother, and one family photo of the four of us. Not to mention Husband’s baseball card.
- I hope you appreciated the sonogram photos of our first baby. You now have his very first picture – the one that I cried happy tears over when I found out I was really, truly pregnant.
- I hope you enjoyed the magazine article I kept tucked in my wallet: “10 Reasons You Still Need Your Mother.” And I’m sure you’ve noted that breaking someone’s car window is not on that list.
And I hope you enjoy the other odds and ends that you found – the sunglasses that I’ve had for seven years without sitting on, losing, or breaking them in any way (a record!); the purse itself, that I got while studying abroad in 2005; the planner that took me forever to buy, because I’m just that picky; and the Kong that I was going to give Manny on the way home from the park. Congratulations – you stole from a puppy, too.
I hope all of that is useful to you, because none of it is worth anything at this point to anyone but me (and Manny).
I know you won’t read this. I know you won’t give me a second thought. But I will think of it every time I drive to the dog park and there are no other cars there – I’ll turn right around so that I’m not a sitting duck.
I will sink into myself a little bit more whenever someone sidles too close.
I will lock the front door when I take the dog for a walk, even though it’s only 15 minutes.
And I will startle easily if I hear a strange sound outside, when before I would have attributed it to nature or the neighborhood.
I will remember that these are not the suburbs I grew up in, and that might be the most upsetting part.