Jury Duty Will Turn Me Into A Fat Drunk

I just got back from the supermarket. Both there and at home, I tried to lock my car with my house key. One is a simple brass key; the other a big chrome one with a thick black rubber handle. I went to the supermarket to buy milk. While there, during several wanderings around the relevant aisles, I put in my cart: a novel, the name of which I can't even remember right now; a bottle of chilled Reisling, because I've recently discovered that I like it; a cute little cup of almonds and some other crunchy stuff that is made to go in the cup holder of one's car; 2 bags of salad, complete with dressing; 2 bags of salted peanuts, 2for a $1 Planters; a good sized chunk of white cake of the birthday genre, two layers frosted and sprinkled with multicolor somethings; and, oh yes, the milk. After the clerk had checked my food through and put it in the paper sack, as requested, I went for my wallet. And came up with air. Checked my pockets--nope. Went out to the car--nada. Went back into the checker to tell her I was going home and I probably wouldn't be back that night. At home, I discovered my wallet.

So what's going on here?

• a. Jane is discombobulated
• b. Jane is nuts
• c. Jane spent the day sitting in a court room doing her civic duty

Correct answer: a & c, although there are some who would argue for b as well.

I'm on jury duty, for the umpteenth time. If my statistics winning the lottery were anywhere near my stats getting called for jury duty, I'd be a rich woman. As it is, I'm fried from sitting and waiting and listening to nothing and sitting some more and waiting some more and eating bad food and breathing recirculated air.

I consider misplacing my wallet God or someone's way of say, Whoa, Jane...there must be a better way of dealing with your frustration. There must, I'm sure; there is, I know. But what, right now, I cannot say.