Saturday, December 17, 2011


I went to a holiday party Friday night. A fantastic, wonderful party. I had a blast. I was having serious Ziggy euphoric moments of glee. Laughing until my face hurts.

Then the husband and I left the party, walked to our car, and there was this:

And then you feel terrible because you have to go back to the party because you're not quite sure what to do in that situation. I mean, you have to call the police, right? And the husband's hand is bleeding because we are apparently not very perceptive and did not notice the gaping hole in the windshield and when we got in the car, we thought it was glitter (we had been dealing with holiday gift bags) and tried to wipe it off the seat and then felt pain and glitter is not supposed to bring pain.

So you go back to the party and have to be the Debbie Downers who come moping in: "hey guys, our car was broken into and his hand is bleeding and can someone help us?"

But then your friend helps you and while helping you deal with calling the police and all of that, the friend also makes you laugh and you realize how ridiculous it all is and is really nothing to get worked up about. No one was hurt (well, somebody did get hurt that night and that is a whole other story and not mine to tell). Insurance will cover the replacement window and those auto glass people are everywhere all the time just waiting for someone to need a window replaced so the whole problem will be fixed by tomorrow afternoon. You get to go home to your cozy house and big bed with the person you love and all is well.

And that's all I have to say about that.

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