Pretty Puff’s key

Right. So. If you’ve ever been to my room, you’ve seen this pony. Yes, I’m too old for this, but I’ve had it since I was little, so that counts for something, right? She’s magic. The saddle opens up if you twist a key in her chest. But… I lost the key.

How could I have lost the key!

This is the basest fear of a hoarder’s heart. This is why we have such a hard time giving anything away without staring at each item, paralyzed, for 10 minutes. What if we feel the regret that we feel every time we look at our keyless Pretty Puff. Here’s the key:

If you ever find this key anywhere, I would mean the world to me if you’d buy it for me. I’ll pay you back. You’ll have my undying affection. You’ll probably never see one unless you’re in the habit of digging through baby toys at second hand stores.

It’s sort of sad that when  you ask me about my treasures, Pretty Puff makes the list, and I’m despondent all over again about her lost key. It’s just one of the worst feelings, losing something like that. At least I have a notion of heaven. It’s where I’ll be reunited with all of my lost things.

Lost things: raver bracelet

If you ever doubted how sentimental I am, you can put that to rest today. This will be the first of several posts about the things I am saddest about not having any more.

The summer I spent at Oxford, I lived in the dorms at Pembroke College. We were served breakfast and dinner at the dining hall. Though it was buffet style, there were people lined up on the other side of the food trays, filling our plates as we pointed and nodded. One of the workers was a girl who was probably about my age and just fairy-tale beautiful. Her hair was pure gold and her eyes were some improbable shade of bright blue-green. We became friends. Really! I even have a photo of the two of us together in the quad. She was a raver and I was a raver, so at the end of the summer she gave me a raver bracelet. Every bead was a different day-bright color. I cherished it.

Then I lost it. I don’t think it even made it back to the US with me. I still have her name and contact information somewhere. I’m sure she wouldn’t even remember me, much less the silly bracelet. But this is still one of my saddest lost things. When I die, I’ll know I’m in heaven if I’m reunited with them all. A little box marked “dolly’s lost things”  will be waiting for me.