Don't Touch It Or I'll Lose It

At a convenience store last summer.  I've taken the amber out of my pocket to get my wallet and/or change.  I carry the amber because it has healing properties, and it just so happened, I needed some healing.

I've taken it out, forgetting it might attract stares, and it does, it does attract stares.  The cashier likes it, so I let her hold it, remembering later that if someone touches or fondles your jewels, all the power of the jewels will be scattered and dispersed and maybe even absorbed by the cashier.

The cashier fondles my amber well, her eyes reflect it's glow.  She says she has amber at home and wants to sell it, but I don't deal in amber, and with a little apprehension grab the amber back, like Gollum might.  The doctor says my hissing is a respiratory disease.  He doesn't know. 

In the cafe.  I'm wearing my fancy pants with the shallow pockets.  I sacrifice the dangers of shallow pockets for being fancy.  But being fancy isn't worth losing my amber -- a lesson I'll take to the grave.

Did I lose the amber because the cashier made fondle?  Yes.  Did I lose it, completely lose it?  Yes.  When I found out about the loss later that day I started shouting profanities and general ramblings at the sun.  That lasted several days.  The authorities threatened to take me away.

In the airport, going through security, I empty the contents of my pockets into the tray.  Since amber is lost, now I carry copper, because I hear it gives you mojo.  Not realizing how many people want mojo, like a dumb-dumb I send it through the scanner.

Now the security lady wants to know what it is.  It's copper.  It gives you mojo, I hear.  She picks it up and fondles it.  I watch on in horror.  She stands there making fondle, meanwhile the other security lady's eyes have filled with horror.  She knows if you touch it, hell follows.  I lose all the mojo I've stored, and security lady goes home to her man with an itch to be scratched.  The other security lady tells the fondling one to watch out.  She tells her all about the dynamics of mojo.

The fondling one asks me if it's true, if she might have stolen my mojo.  I nod my head and tell her that last time someone touched one of my lucky charms, I lost it.  Completely and totally.  Then I stared at her for what may have been too long, and licked my lips.  I could tell, and she could tell that feeling charging her was nothing other than my Fring.  But I had a plane to catch.