Dude, where’s my car?

A couple months ago, I left work and walked through the parking lot toward the last known location of my car.  I rounded the corner and should have seen my car, but no!  I stopped in my tracks, rather stunned, then took a few more tentative steps forward.  My car.  It was parked right over there.  How could it be gone?  Had someone really stolen my car in broad daylight within sight of my office?

How was I going to get home?  I imagined calling Matthew:

“Hi, honey.  Somebody stole our car.  Can you come pick me up on your bicycle?”

Wearing a look of utter shock and confusion, I ventured forward a few more steps, and, lo!  My car!  Hidden between two behemoths, tucked in snugly (and deceptively) at the front of the parking space, all cute and little.

I found a repeat scene when I left work last night, with less of the shock value, and more of the, “Where’s my car?  Oh, wait.  This is that thing that happened before, with the ginormous vehicles.  Don’t panic, I’m sure the Corolla is in there somewhere . . . unless one of the trucks got hungry and ate it for dinner . . . .”

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