“Order whenever you’re ready,” bellowed the speaker box.

“I’d like a chicken Caesar salad, please,” I replied, way too loudly. (Why do we think we must achieve the same ear-splitting volume as the speaker in the drive-through lane?) “And can I get that with diet dressing?”

“No problem,” the box roared back. “That’ll be $6.15 at the window.”

I pulled around, put the car in park, and reached into my purse for my wallet.

That’s funny, I thought. I’m sure it was in my purse …

Perplexed, I drove off, sans salad, heading for home. There, I retraced my steps from the night before with a self-narrated play-by-play:

“OK, we came home from the restaurant where I had paid the check with my card. I put the purse on the breakfast bar. Sat down to watch TV. ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm.’ Larry’s groin problem. (Pause for giggling.) Then, I took out my laptop and ordered those sweaters, also with my credit card. So, we KNOW my wallet was in the house then : OR did I not return the card to my wallet after dinner? Maybe I pitched it back in my purse and left the wallet in the booth. I’ll call the restaurant. THEY must have it!”

After a hostess assured me the wallet was not on the premises, I hung up the phone and ransacked my house.

Ransacking one’s own home can be an eye-opening experience, not to mention a bonanza for the jewelry box. With every cushion overturned, I discovered a stray earring, some AWOL since 1989. (Anyone need a pair of jumbo glitter hoops?)

I hoisted sofas, up-ended chairs. Nothing but dust bunnies.

“It must be in the car!” I scurried out to the garage, flashlight in hand.

Twenty minutes passed. I emerged from the vehicle, disheveled and empty-handed save for $3.18 in change, two dry cleaning tickets and a fistful of ATM receipts.

Panic set in. Was it time to call Happy Acres for an intake evaluation?

I rushed back to the office, scoured my desk and dug through my computer case. No wallet and – that’s funny – my camera was missing, too!

“The camera was in my purse,” I said to myself. “Wasn’t it? Yes! I’m sure of it. Well, 85 percent sure, for sure!”

The afternoon passed with the usual meetings, deadlines and phone calls. I couldn’t concentrate. Where could that blankety-blank wallet be?!? And what about the camera? How could I lose two things at once? Maybe my purse spilled out on the street. But wouldn’t I remember that? Hear it? Am I THAT preoccupied?”

I called my husband.

“Honey, have you seen my wallet?”

“No,” he answered. “But you had it last night when you were shopping online.” (Drat! And I was SURE he didn’t notice!)

“You think someone could have taken it? My camera is missing, too.”

“Well, the garage and mudroom doors WERE open this morning. Didn’t you feel how cold it was?” he asked.

(No. I must’ve been warmed by the menofog enveloping my head.)

Still, what were the odds of someone breaking in and just making off with those two things? My husband’s billfold was right there on the desk. My laptop was on the floor a few feet away. And my iPod was still on the breakfast bar, next to my purse.

“We just forgot to close the door,” I said. “I’ll find them. You know me : a few sandwiches short of a picnic!”

But I wasn’t laughing. If this was a case of temporary senility, it was worse than ever. I was worried. I rushed back home for a second round of ransacking.

By 5 o’clock, every nook and cranny in the house had been turned inside out and upside down, again. This is crazy, I thought. No, I’M crazy! I resigned myself to an early retirement at Happy Acres. Just then, my husband walked in holding some receipts.

“These are from the restaurant last night,” he said. “I found them in the drainage ditch out by the sidewalk. Someone must’ve broken in while we were sleeping.”

“You mean, we were robbed? Burglarized?” I took a beat while reality sunk in. “Thank God!” I cried, a sense of relief washing over me.

Later, as the police officer took his report in our breakfast room, I could barely suppress a smile.

“Well, folks,” the cop said. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah,” I said to myself. “What’s a few credit cards and a camera compared to a lifetime at Happy Acres?”