So I’m buzzing around town with a gazillion things in my head. I stop at the library, and since I’m childless at the moment, visit for a while. I come out and total panic.
My truck is gone.
Immediately all remaining brain cells shrivel up and die. I can’t believe I’m going to have tell my husband the truck was stolen. And OMG I’d rather walk than deal with the insurance company. So I’m on the phone with a police officer, reporting my truck stolen, and he says, “Did you leave it running?”
Umm…I don’t think so. It’s not very cold, so there wouldn’t be any reason to. But I fish in my pocket anyway and come up with…
…the keys to the service loaner. Yup, that white 1997 Grand Prix parked at the end of the row.
Scariest thing? Not the first time I’ve done that. So how was your day?