Quote of the Day:

“Most loathsome events become humorous tales with the passage of time.” –Jimmy Buffett, from Tales From Margaritaville

It has only taken ten days. Now, finally, TB can laugh about it. After much therapy. And the arrival of replacement cards. And the straightening out of the ordeal with the cable company. But the mystery is unsolved and so I turn to you, the denizens of the TB universe to serve as the jury. As always, the Prosecution goes first. And there is only one jury instruction–you must not let sympathy or bias play a part in your verdict. And now, the trial:

Issue–Did TB lose his wallet or does his alternative theory–“the little scamp”–hold water?

The evidence against TB:

• TB is/was the undisputed owner of the now fugitive male accoutrement
• The trifold was last seen by both witnesses capable of broad powers of speech in the possession of TB, leaving the Dairy Queen.
• For roughly 10 hours, the billfold’s whereabouts are unknown
• TB’s home and vehicles have been turned inside out and the wallet remains awol
• TB has a long record of absent-mindedness, ranging from driving into a parked car in a rainstorm while shooing a mosquito, to locking his keys in his car on the day he left for college to forgetting what else it was I was getting ready to say just now
• Not once, but twice, TB has backed into a car in his own driveway in the last five years, including his own
• There is no possibility the accessory was stolen
• There are two plausible theories on how the money holder was lost: 1-that it was placed on the roof of the vehicle while extracting the alternately accused, but uncharged juvenile from her carseat and B-that the pocketbook somehow was taken out with the trash, somewhat like Luke, Leia and Han planned to do on the Death Star

TB’s Defense

• It had to have been my 2 and a half year old daughter; she grabs things and has begun to “hide” things, usually her hair bows
• She can now reach the “bar” where I up until today kept my essentials
• She was caught red-handed hiding TB’s keys in her own car; these keys were removed from said bar; The little scamp’s reaction? “Lubyu Daddy, Now GO to work.” We let her off the hook
• Yes I am an idiot; however I have never (previously) lost either my keys or the unloseable hip residing appurtenance now going on 27 years
• I keep (kept) the object in question in the same place every day, for the most part
• If the leather possessor had been on the roof of our car it would’ve fallen off, most likely in our neighborhood. A drive around found no trace and no one has called, written or emailed and TB’s contact info appeared numerous times within
• No attempt to use the credit cards was made, thus reinforcing the contention that had the cowhide been found it would’ve been by an honest sort who would surely have made efforts to return it
• Only one sack of garbage went out on the dreadful night and I’m 75% sure I would’ve noticed had my constant companion been perched amongst the soggy diapers within

Rebuttal

• Yes, the little scamp has sticky fingers but she also has a habit of bringing the essential accoutrements of TB’s life directly to me when she comes into their possession; said accoutrements including the missing item, keys, phone and remote control
• On the night in question the l.s. was quite tuckered out, thus sat on the sofa for much of her hour and a half of possible thievery watching a video in the presence of the defendant, then taking her ritual bath and retiring for the night; her activities on the morning leading up to the discovery of the disappearance are unaccounted for
• Upon being questioned over the affair, the l.s. responded “ohhhhh nooooo. It’s lost.” Approximately 20 more times over the next two days she witnessed TB peering into forgotten nooks and crannies and repeated “Daddy’s wallet lost.” Actually, these statements can be interpreted to either impart or absolve the l.s.’ culpability, but you, the jury, are entitled to all the evidence to interpret as you will

I rest my case(s).

Bonus QOTD

“Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own damn fault.” Jimmy Buffett, Margaritaville