Monday, November 19, 2012
Trash was everywhere. All of my compartments were open and empty. We had been robbed.
I almost laughed. Poor guy. He clearly picked the wrong little car to burgarlize. I didn't have any money, fancy gadgets, or anything else (in the car anyway) that you can sell to the bum down the street for a quick buck. Clearly, his time would have been better spent plundering the nearby trash bin.
I felt totally violated, like someone looked up my skirt searching for a pot of gold.
And then I started remembering things in my car... Two pairs of earrings. A leather jacket my sister gave me. Car charger. Sunglasses. Work badge. Apartment key. Car title and insurance. And my Bible.
I know, Petty Betty. You were crying over a ten-dollar pair of earrings and a Bible? To be fair, they were my favorites. You know the go-with-everything pair almost as valuable as a go-with-everything bra. And the Bible was the first thing Grahm ever bought me. It had all my notes from the past three years, and its pages held favorite picture of a 6th-grade, glasses-wearing Grahm that a sweet friend gave me at one of my bridal showers. None of it was actually valuable, but it was sentimental to me.
We had to change the locks. This guy knows my name, my address, where I work. It's creep-tastic, to say the least. I may or may not have slept with my eyes open last night and a butterknife under my pillow. Just in case. (Dangerous is clearly my middle name.)
Moral of the story: Don't be lazy. Take your crap inside the house. And for the loves of Moses, lock the damn door.
I hope your girlfriend likes my earrings, pal. And next time, don't smoke in my car and leave the cigarrette on my floorboard. Love, Pilfered and Second-hand Smoked