Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony

When I was little I used to lose things. A lot. Not much has really changed, but I have come to utilize a particular finder of lost things: Saint Anthony. Well, Saint Anthony and my mom. They are virtually one and the same. But I'll split them up for your sake, since chances are you can't utilize my mother for finding your lost things.

Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around, for something has been lost and cannot be found. That is what you chant as you are searching for your lost item. It becomes irritating about three rounds in, and when your little sister insists on doing it before school while you sleep off cough medicine with codeine can induce extreme thoughts of pillow smothering. My host mom (Tete, for those of you who don't know) said that you have to offer Saint Anthony a bit of a bribe... she goes with five euro to his offering box in a cathedral. Mayte, the assistant director in my study abroad program, suggested giving two euro to the next homeless person you see. Since Steamboat lacks both a cathedral and our only homeless person committed suicide by jumping in front of two high school girls in a car, I will have to come up with a new way to bribe him. Perhaps I could give five bucks to an emo kid in need of a milkshake. Or I would feed a car meter if we had those. Perhaps I will pay off my library fines or stop stealing the books.

If Saint Anthony fails to come through for you, here is the best advice in the book, straight from the mother's mouth:

It's under your bed. Simple as that. I promise that no matter how frustrating that is after you have sifted through sock drawers, backpacks, makeup bags, or cheerio boxes, whatever you are looking for is under your bed.

And here is the worst piece of searching advice I have been given: Where did you last have it? Uhm. If I know that, would I be SEARCHING FOR IT FRANTICALLY RIGHT NOW? NO.

Oh wait, another prime piece of advice: It will be in the last place you look.

If you are intentionally being annoying (or are my mother) try using that one on me and see how you feel after I verbally assault you in Spanish.

Just look under your bed. And if it isn't there, give up. Finding it will be like trying to convince Lindsey Lohan to stop running her live down the drain while speeding up the process by stealing necklaces she can afford to just buy.