On Monday morning I made a discovery that pretty much soured the entire weekend. Sometime during late Sunday night/early Monday morning, my purse had been stolen.

The car wasn’t broken into. The culprit didn’t have to make that kind of effort. In the craziness that was the weekend, we didn’t put the car in the garage. The hubby had forgotten to lock the vehicle and I had forgotten to bring my purse in the house. We were both completely exhausted as we spent Friday, Saturday, Sunday working our asses off at a feverish pace to get our other house ready to be put on the market.

What sucks is that the scrawny little fuckers (the cops, the hubby and I are pretty sure it was most likely a neighborhood teen) took my favorite purse and the following contents: two camera phones (I had grabbed Marc’s the other day because mine had a low battery), our digital camera, wallet, various credit cards, bank card, favorite Burt’s Bees tinted lip balm, my favorite eye shadow compact, $80 in cash (and usually I NEVER have that kind of cash on me) and my favorite-est photo of Seth evah. Oh and my social security card.

I have a pretty good idea of who probably snatched it. But I can’t prove it at this time. But let me say this: if the pasty little shithead I’m thinking of really did take it, I’m gonna string him up by his teeny, tiny little nuts. (And if the pasty little shithead happens to be reading this, I just want to tell him: that new haircut you got recently? Makes you look like an updated “Blanche” from The Golden Girls. You may think its very “rocker chic” but honestly? That is one prissy, old lady, candy-ass haircut. Plus, if you go for “rocker chic” you need to at least know how to play a damn instrument!)

We will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law — especially if the police end up catching the person we suspect. And if this kid whom we suspect goes to jail, I hope a large, well-hung dude with anger management problems makes this little thief his bitch and treats this kid to donkey punches on a regular basis.

I’m sure that WHEN we’d press charges, this kid’s sue-happy parents would probably stop trying to befriend us. (Aka come over to our house to mooch food, a beer or free babysitting services.) The suspected culprit and his family are the proverbial “turd in the punchbowl” of our happy, fun little neighborhood. So on the other hand, maybe he’s just done me a gigantic favor? Because honestly, I would pay a tidy sum to get him and his family out of our hair.

And if the thief isn’t reading, that’s ok too. Because if he is caught, he will never see it coming.

Now, if you will excuse me. I have to go eat some candy or pop open a bottle of wine. Because every time I think of my purse, that kid or his family? I can feel my blood pressure shoot up like a rocket. And just that in and of itself makes me angry. Because they aren’t worth it.