On the 24th night of November, 2013, something terrible happened. Awful. Wretched. Unthinkable. While relaxing on the floor, enjoying a quaint Parisian wine bar, Michael Kors Bag was kidnapped. We don't know who dun it, but we think it was gypsies. Or gypsy children. Or the gypsy mafia. The story keeps changing.
|Michael Kors Bag, enjoying one if his final and happier days|
This is all we know.
We were sitting down at a wine bar, catching up with my Parisian friend from college, Alexandra. Michael Kors Bag was hanging out under my mom's chair, tired after a long day of touring Paris. We were sitting by the door, looking out the window and drinking fine French wine.
Suddenly, as our order was being taken, two (possible gypsy) men came in and started speaking French to our waiter, interrupting him from taking our order, and then left in a huff. Maybe it was them?
Later on in the night, a gypsy woman strangely came into the wine bar selling popcorn and roses. Maybe it was her?
We never saw gypsy children, but they are sneaky and well trained. They could have easily came in, crawled under the table, and abducted Michael Kors Bag, right from under our noses.
My mom had a weird hunch, and started looking for Michael Kors Bag. It was futile and in vain. He was no where to be found. It is pointless trying to put the blame on someone (although we know it was those damn gypsies). All that matters is, Michael Kors Bag is gone. Forever.
|A sad, sick joke. We didn't know that only 6 hours later, Michael Kors Bag would be out of our lives forever.|
Mom went through all of the stages of grief.
Denial: Michael Kors Bag has to be SOMEWHERE. Maybe he's in the toilet? Maybe he's hiding under the chair? I know he'll come back.
Anger: WTF who would do this? Who would steal my precious Michael Kors Bag?
Bargaining: Well, maybe the police will find him? Maybe we should give the restaurant our number, just in case Michael Kors Bag comes wondering in, lost and confused?
Depression: How can I ever live my life without Michael Kors Bag? He had everything I ever needed. My money. My ID. My chapstick, tissues, and cheap sunglasses. Can I even make it home without him?
Acceptance: He really is gone. He left mom with a parting gift, though. He might have passed on, but not with my mom's passport, trainticket, or phone. For that, she will always be grateful.
I think what hurts the most is, we don't know where he is. Was he thrown in a dumpster, left for trash, after the gypsies realized he didn't have much money inside him? Or is he living a new life, with a new family, bringing joy to their lives like he did to ours? We pray daily for the latter.
It has been hard moving on. We are reminded of Michael Kors Bag's lost daily. Every time my mom needs to purchase something, she has to use my sister's credit card. When her lips were chapped, she reached for Michael Kors Bag, and he wasn't there (nor was her chapstick). When Westminster Abbey wouldn't let my mom get in and use the free ticket I got her because she didn't have her ID, that stung. But, I know slowly but surely, we will move on and be okay.
|Michael Kors Bag, seeing the world during one of his last days with us|
We are just so thankful that Michael Kors Bag got to do what he always wanted to do: see the world. It is bittersweet, yet fitting, that he spent his final days in London and Paris.