How NOT to ingratiate yourself to a We Hate Worms Club Co-President

I escaped pickpocketing at a marketplace in Turkey by the grace of God and from an eight-year-old in China by Mandy's deft eye. The Applebee's restroom was my downfall.

Yesterday my bank, that is, Philip, called to say my credit cards had been found in the trash at a gas station in Casper. Surprise.

The best recreation: I left my wallet in a toilet stall and went on to Buffalo and Sheridan with my mother and her boss. Someone found it and took a handful of credit cards, a Singapore MRT card, and €10, leaving the wallet behind. For the record, when Abby saw this wallet two years ago, she bought the exact same one in copper.

The real business was the thief took not only my driver's license, expired license with SSN, Charlie's expired permit I kept because he was so little and cute, but MY WHWC CARD!

My club with Nathan Hellbaum is at 12 years and counting. Our credentials were pictures of him at age 7 in a wheat field and me at the junior prom, our slogan, "If it squirms, we hate it," and a Co-President designation. The thief better not think just because she has that card that she gets to be in the club.

She kept the gold credit card with 10x less credit than the ugly navy one, bought $32 of gas, tried to spend $308 at Wal-Mart where it was rejected, and is now getting into bars as an almost 26-year-old. It could have been a lot uglier and I'm grateful to Tara at the Loaf & Jug for calling my bank and not using the cards herself. (Grandmothers, lest you worry I canceled all the cards, put a fraud alert on my credit report, and filed with the police.)

Sucker left my New Zealand Antarctic program patch, MAC red lipstick recommendation, fake picture with Pele from the World Cup, unused Paris metro tickets from Laurent, etc.