The Mystery of the stolen Diamond

It’s gone. Where the heck is it? He’s going to kill me. It’s gone. He’s gonna kill me. I woke up at 6:30 this morning and turned off my alarm. It was there then. Then I went to the bathroom, wiped myself, but I checked before I flushed, and it was there. Then, I went downstairs in my Mickey Mouse PJs (my nieces and nephews love these), took out the pots, sprayed them with butter, and cooked. The ring was there then. I poured coffee, took out the bacon, pancakes, and syrup, and ate. If it fell on the plate or in the sink, it would have gone clank, but there was no clank. I put my plate down for Izzy (our Golden Retriever, put the ring was there after that, and then I refilled his food bowl and water bowl. He, Izzy, licked up the syrup and I picked up the plate, put it in the dishwasher, and went upstairs.  

Then, I already bought a special container for my night stand for my ring, so I put it in there. I went for my shower, dried myself off, put on the ring, pet Izzy, Izzy kissed me and I kissed Izzy and I drove myself to work and it was gone. Maybe when I shift gears it fell into the area between the shift and the seat, but I put the flashlight on my phone on both sides of the gear shift and it was nowhere to be found. Where is it? He’s gonna kill me.  

We had the air-conditioning on in the house, so all the windows were shut, so it couldn’t’ve been stolen and if I dropped it, I would have heard the clunk. It doesn’t make sense. My fiancé’s on vacation in the Alps with his parents. They wanted me to come, but work wouldn’t let me off. I’m a real-estate agent. At least I know I lost it before I left for work or I would’ve had driveways and houses galore to go through. So, I meet my clients for coffee at Starbucks and we talk about how much they want to spend on their house, the type of neighborhood they want to live in, and they’re looking to start a family soon and their biggest concern is the quality of the schools, the size of the house, and the property tax. I look at the woman’s finger and she has on a two-karat, similar to mine, but not mine. Then, we start touring. I show them four houses. Then, I go home to walk Izzy.  

Izzy’s usually asleep on his dog bed when I get home, but he’s not this time. For some reason, when I get home this time, his stomach is pulsing, so I get him outside, so he’ll puke out there and not on the carpet. He tries to puke, but nothing comes out. He tinkles but when he tries to go BM, he’s constipated: weird. I take him back in though and give him his Meaty and he’s happy again. Also, there’s an old wives tale that says if I give a dog yam, it’ll make‘em regular, so I give him some leftover yam.  

I’m about to drive to work and he calls.  

“Hi, Honey, how are you?” I kind’a want to tell him and kind’a don’t want to tell him.

“Good. Wazzup?”

“The weathers a little rough up here, so I’ll have to stay a few more days.”

Thank God. I hope I find his ring by then.

“That’s ok. I miss you, Baby.”

“I miss you, too.”

I think about it, though.

“Honey, there’s something I gotta tell you,” I say.

“Yea? What? What’s wrong? ”

”I lost your ring.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“You what?”

“I . . .”

“Go back to every place you’ve been. Everywhere. Call up the city of Denver if you have to, to see if you flushed it down the drain,” he yelled.

“I will. I’m sorry, Barry. I’ll find it. I promise.”

“Call me when you do.”

Then we said our goodbyes without ‘I love yous’ and hung up. I went back through my morning in my head while heading back to work and had a soft cry.

I met the clients back at the coffee shop and they asked if I was ok and I told them; “Yes, I’m fine” and we toured more houses. The clients got out their iPhones and took pictures of the houses, but I made a lot of mistakes. I confused the prices of the houses, forgot where the keys for the houses were, and almost fell down the stairs in one of the houses. The clients smiled, though, and didn’t get angry.

He might break up with me. It looked like a $10,000.00 ring. The time flied the way it does when I’m nervous. I asked the clients if they had any specific questions about the houses and they said they didn’t and asked to look at more houses the next day.

I drive home and my body is shaking like someone with Parkinson’s Disease. I go home and see Izzy and I give him a hug and cry loud and hard. My whole future: Me living in his house, us getting married and us having babies, the car which he lent me money for, gone, because of my mistake. Darn it. But, after five minutes, I prepare the Mise en place for dinner and get Izzy’s leash and a poop bag. Maybe this time, with the yam, he’ll go. Before I open the door, I see my reflection: my face is red from crying and there are bags under my eyes. Little ones, but I still see them. Then, we exit and I close the door behind us.  

    He pees in his usual spot (the oak tree on the corner) and he smells the plain in our backyard and he finds his perfect spot to poop. I pick it up, as usual, and go back inside. Izzy’s happy and I give him a treat. I then go to the side of the house where the garbage can is, to throw the poop out, but I feel hard things in his poop.  So, I open up the poop, separate the poop, and I see an ordinary rock. Darn it. But, as I dig deeper into the poop, I see a small sparkle, and it’s there. The ring’s there. A sigh of relief comes out of me and I take the poop and the pop bag inside. I put the stop in the sink, fill it with soap and water, and clean the ring off. I’m ready to call my fiancé.