When it comes to punctuality, the meaning of the word is foreign to me. In my defense, however, I usually have a very good reason for being late.

Take last month, for example. I’d been having a problem with my eyes burning and itching, so I made an appointment to see my optometrist. When the day arrived, I made certain I was ready to leave the house in plenty of time for my appointment. The last thing I always do before I go somewhere is put on my wristwatch and favorite ring – a Valentine gift from my late husband.

So as I was leaving, I headed to the drawer where I keep my jewelry. My ring wasn’t there! I frantically flung everything out of the drawer until there was nothing left inside but bare wood. I then raced to check the pockets of the clothes I’d been wearing the night before. Aside from a few lint balls, the pockets were empty. Had I, I wondered, set the ring down on the kitchen counter? I checked every inch of counter-space, which was no easy task because the counter is dark granite with specks of different colors running through it. I found nothing but a dried-up splotch of ketchup I’d forgotten to wipe up.

Warily, I eyed the trash container. Did I really want to thrust my hands into a mushy pile of everything from potato peels to discarded oatmeal? Yes! Just as I started to roll up my sleeves, however, it dawned on me that I was supposed to be heading to the optometrist’s. I looked at the clock and panicked when I saw I had only 15 minutes to get there. On a good day, the trip usually takes 20-25 minutes.

I bolted out the door, jumped into my car and headed to my appointment. I arrived eight minutes late.

The optometrist wasn’t my regular doctor, but a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was young, dark-haired and stunningly exotic-looking.

I apologized for being late and explained why. “I feel totally heartsick about losing my ring,” I told her.

She was silent for a few seconds, then said, “You know, I’m going to tell you something that probably will sound really crazy, but I swear it works. I can’t explain why, but it just does.”

She hesitated, as if debating whether or not to say her next words, then finally said, “My grandmother, back in Italy, once told me that if you lose something, to take a tissue, tie a knot in it and then hold it tightly in your hand. The next place you look, you’ll find the item you’re looking for.”

I didn’t want to be rude, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “How on earth can a knotted-up tissue help me find anything?”

She shrugged and smiled somewhat mysteriously. “I have no idea, but it really works!”

I’d heard of a lot of strange things in my life – and, although I hate to admit it, tried many of them, like rubbing half an onion on a pimple and then tossing the onion over my right shoulder, supposedly to make the pimple immediately disappear. All I ended up with was a pimple that smelled like onions. But I’d never heard of the tissue-knotting theory before.

My eyes turned out to be fine, other than being dry. The doctor recommended some drops and said they should help.

I headed straight home so I could continue the search for my ring. The first thing I tackled was the trash, which yielded nothing but...trash...much of which was less than pleasant to dig through. I became more and more desperate by the minute – which was blatantly obvious when my dogs wanted to go outside to do their duties and I followed them out there so I closely could examine everything they did, just in case one of them might have swallowed my ring.

An hour later, after I’d done everything but rent a metal detector, I finally admitted defeat and plunked down on the sofa. Mourning the loss of my favorite ring, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Sniffling, I reached for the box of tissues on the end-table next to the sofa. I pulled out a tissue and stared at it for a few moments, remembering what the doctor had told me.

“Don’t be silly!” I scolded myself. “You’ve searched every inch of the house! A tissue isn’t going to magically help you find your ring!”

But a little voice told me I had nothing to lose, so why not try it, just for the heck of it? Shaking my head and sighing, I muttered to myself, “You’re much more intelligent than this!”

Nevertheless, I tied a knot in the tissue and held it tightly in my hand.

I still can’t believe what happened next – and I swear it’s the absolute truth – I immediately recalled that the night before, when I’d taken off my ring, the stones had looked kind of dull, so I’d put the ring into a jar of jewelry cleaner to soak.

I bolted out to the kitchen and opened the cabinet where I keep the jewelry cleaner. Sure enough, there was my ring, now sparkling clean, still lying in the bottom of the jar.

I burst out laughing. And then I called the optometrist’s office and told the receptionist to tell the doctor that the knot in the tissue had worked.

“The knot in the tissue?” she repeated, her tone bewildered. She probably thought it was some new kind of treatment for eye discomfort.

"Yes, tell her exactly that!”

I think now, just to be on the safe side (because I usually misplace either my keys, eyeglasses or credit card on a weekly basis), maybe I should join one of those wholesale clubs and buy a case of tissues.

Sally Breslin is an award-winning humor columnist and the author of There’s a Tick in my Underwear! Contact her at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .