All's well that ends well

I walk into work yesterday-- which is to say, into the building and down to the basement where my unofficial realm is-- and the assistant cook holds up my change purse, miraculously transported from Bloor and Spadina. 'This is yours? It was by the phone.' But- but- I wasn't *in* the kitchen Wednesday afternoon. Toddler staff says 'I told you to check the kitchen. You always go straight to the basement when you come in the building, to the kitchen and the laundry room.' I do not. Except that I do. But I wasn't *in* the kitchen... except that I was, calling my chiropractor. Clear need for more gingko biloba.
( Our canine forebears-- or should that be foredogs? )