Passport Scare!

As I was laying down for a nap after a grueling day of reading and hanging out, I thought, "Where's my passport?"

I couldn't remember what I did with it after customs.  So, I checked the usual pockets in my luggage. No.

I systematically unpacked my suitcase and my back pack.  I repacked them.  No.

I'm to the point I'm almost crying.  Then I ease the emotional trauma of a lost passport with 1) I'm in Canada, home of compassionate softies (woohoo!) and 2) I'm never taking a red eye again-- except to get home.

I figure before calling the consulate to get a new one, I should call the other friend I've stayed with.

I call Betty.

"Hello!" Betty answers.
"Hey," I say. "How about this weather?"
"WHO is this?" Betty says.
"Joy," I say.
"Oh," she sighs.  "WHERE are you? Seattle?"
"No, Mandy's," I say.
"Did you try to go to Seattle?" she asks.
"Not this trip," I respond.  I can feel the tenseness ease out of my body with this line of questioning.
"Did I leave my passport at your house?"
"YES.  You left it on the kitchen table under your plane ticket.  I found it after you left!" Betty explained.

Whew.