As I left the mall, I reached into my pocket for my keys—nothing. A wave of panic hit me. Had I really left them in the car? My husband had warned me countless times about this, always worried that one day the car would get stolen.
I rushed to the parking lot, and my heart sank. The space where I had parked was completely empty. The car was gone!
Frantic, I grabbed my phone and called the police. I gave them my location and explained, voice trembling, “My car has been stolen! I left the keys inside!”
But the hardest call was yet to come. Taking a deep breath, I dialed my husband. “I, uh… I left the keys in the car… and it’s been stolen.”
There was a long silence. So long that I thought the call had dropped—until I heard him snap, “Are you kidding me? I dropped you off!”
My stomach sank. Oh. Right.
Now it was my turn to go silent. Feeling like an idiot, I mumbled, “Well… come get me.”
His response? “I will. Just as soon as I convince this cop that I didn’t steal your damn car!”
Ah, welcome to the golden years!