No, not mine. Remember the gps that my wonderful daddy gave me a few months ago? The one that shone brightly through the misty, dark night and pointed my way toward home? (oohh… she waxes poetic) That one? Well it got stolen out of our unlocked van the other night (parked in our driveway btw) by some rotten punk shit kids. Eff!
But here’s the smooth with the crunchy. Three things, actually:
1) The gps was old and many times took me on lovely tours of Ottawa usually reserved for tourists and taxi drivers with fares unfamiliar with the territory. It wasn’t one of those cool flat screen deelies. It was big and clunky and shaped like an old tube tv.
2) It wasn’t my fault.
3) And because of that (thank you guilt!), I’ll get a cooler, newer one. Ha! Of course it’ll be safely under my pillow every night…
I’m actually a freak about locking the van at all times. I’ve even locked it when visiting friends’ remote cottages. My thinking is if I lock it whenever I get out, even somewhere safe, I’ll never forget to lock it at the mall. It’s a better-safe-than-sorry habit. Scott, on the other hand, sometimes locks it and sometimes doesn’t depending on the venue. In the night in question, he forgot. Seeing that we’ve been together since 1988 and I know how to behave within a successful marriage, that will be the only dig about this incident. Anyway, after a late hockey game he just parked the car and went to bed. Thank goodness we don’t keep anything else of value in the car. Not even cds. Suckers. All they got was a busted up gps that takes you on what my dad would colourfully call a “bellecoucouche” instead of a direct route.
kxx
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