I checked my pockets—no keys. Suddenly, a wave of panic hit me as I realized I must have left them in the ignition. My husband has lectured me a thousand times about how easily the car could get stolen, so I frantically rushed out to the parking lot.
Lo and behold, he was right. The lot was completely empty.
I immediately called the police, confessed my stupidity, and reported the vehicle stolen. Then came the hardest part: calling my husband.
“Honey,” I whimpered, “I left the keys in the car, and someone stole it.”
A heavy, painful silence filled the line. I thought the call dropped, but then his angry voice boomed through the speaker: “Are you kidding me? I dropped you off!”
Now it was my turn to be dead silent. Mortified, I mumbled, “Oh… well, can you come pick me up?”
He snapped back, “I will—just as soon as I convince this cop that I didn’t steal your damn car!”
Welcome to the Golden Years!
