Moments after this inglorious act, she was interrogated by an aggressive Inner Critic. Her response was pitiful, blaming the lapse on a temporary resurgence of the primitive reptile lurking in her brain.
She apologized profusely and agreed to the Inner Critic’s demands: expiation could come only via a detailed public recitation of the sorry episode. If the specifics bored her readers to the point that they clicked off, so much the better.
“I was rushing to get downstairs—not sure why. In one hand, I carried a garment that requires a cold water hand wash. I routinely do this task in the bathroom sink right near the stairs.
“In the other hand, I clutched the small cotton string-tied bag I’ve been using in lieu of the thick wallet that weighed heavily in my pocketbook.
“My plan was to return said bag to said pocketbook, which was hanging on the post at the bottom of the stairs.
“Efficiently, I thought, I closed the drain, turned on the cold water tap, and poured a small capful of the liquid soap into the sink.
“(If this were a sponsored blog, I would tell you that the liquid soap is Woolite and maybe earn a few cents. But it isn’t.)
“I suspect that was the moment when everything went awry. Though I completed Steps (1) and (2) above with my right (dominant) hand, pouring the liquid into the cap before emptying it into the sink required the collaborative use of both hands.
“Then with my right hand, I dropped the garment into the sudsy water and swished it around. However—and this is the best attempt at reconstructing events that my prefrontal cortex could help me achieve—I must have transferred the small cotton string-tied bag from my left hand to my right during the pouring of the soap.
“When I swished, I saw two items in the sink: the garment and my substitute wallet.
“Thinking quickly, while a sturdy Anglo-Saxon expletive escaped my lips, I swooped up the now-drenched small cotton string-tied bag and carried it, drippingly, the fifteen or so steps into my bedroom.
“There, I rapidly converted the middle of my long dresser into a drying table: first laying plastic bags side by side, then placing doubled-over paper towels on top of them.
“I retrieved the contents: license and insurance cards in one rubber band; credit cards in another; and cash held together by a large (blue) paper clip.
“(The degree of organization I’m describing here had pleased my fairly disorderly self, I must admit.)
“ I dried the pieces of plastic first, then turned to the paper money.
“I am happy to report that two Andrew Jacksons, one Alexander Hamilton, two Abraham Lincolns, and three George Washingtons have all survived intact. Indeed, they cleaned up rather nicely. (See photo above.)
“My credit cards’ viability will require an onsite test.”
The Inner Critic asked Annie the Blogger if she’d learned any lessons.
She was non-committal, apparently trying to end this episode by refusing to rise to the Inner Critic’s baiting Inner Criticism (as in “Pretty stupid, don’t ya think?” or “What? You thought you could accomplish this small degree of multitasking without repercussions?”).
She did, however, express appreciation to any reader who has reached this point.