Remember this day

I have almost collected my Irish Examiner personal radio tokens. None of your fancy ipods for me! All I have to do now is track down the jackass who swiped last Friday's Examiner and wreak my revenge on them by stamping them all over with my library stamp. Then I will glue a borrower's slip to their sneaky ass, and barcode their shifty eyes shut!

Jeez, a librarian's accessories don't sound very intimidating or weapon-like. So that's what's wrong with me! No where to act out my violent impulses!

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who lose stuff all the time and those who find it. There's also a third group made up of people who stand around and say helpful things like 'It's always the last place you look' or 'when do you remember having it?' but these people will soon be extinct due to their tiny brains and heedless ignorance of the danger inherent in irritating people who have lost stuff. Evolution is our friend. Though it did take away our tails, which I don't think I will ever quite get over.

Until this morning, I used to be a loser. Until this morning, I could lose pretty much anything I managed to hussle into my possession. Perfectly manageable items fell into my clumsy fingers and promptly fell back out again. I have even, on a shamefully high number of occassions, scurried around my house looking for something only to stop, mid-scurry, and wonder blankly what it was I had been looking for.

But no more! For now I am a finder! Note my eagle eyes, my fine-tuned teeming brain, my stunning good-looks (of little consequence here, but needed to be said)! Oh, children shall sit round fireplaces and hear stories of my proud victory for years to come, how, on that vibrant Thursday morning, a fair maiden by the name of Aoife searched hopelessly for her glasses.

'Alack and alas!' She cried. 'It is all for naught! They are lost to me forever!'
'Not so, gentle maid!' spoke the valiant Lucy. 'For I have found them, here on the stairs, under your coat!'
'Blessed Lucy, how can I ever repay you?' implored the weeping Aoife, clutching her beloved glasses to her chest.
'I ask no payment.' Lucy answered gravely. 'Only that you remember this day... forever.'

At which point the strange boy who had spent the night on our sitting room floor pointed out that he had spotted them first. Tsk, tsk. Glory breeds many petty jealousies.