This morning, rather than go to work, my husband came back home, looking a bit panicked.
“Our car’s been stolen!” he exclaimed.
Ok, I really did not want to wrap my brain around that one so early in the morning. So I did my “I’m in an alternate universe, and any moment now, I’m going to be switched back to my own, and everything will be ok,” mantra of denial.
“Honey, are you sure you didn’t just park it in another spot?”
“No, I ran around the parking lot and checked.”
I pondered this.
“Maybe your parking permit sticker fell off and the police towed it?”
So off he went to the police station to deal with that, while I got on with the business of getting the girls ready for their first school picture day.
Later, my husband came back after having filled out a police report, and we all headed out to my mamavan, so I could give him a lift to work after dropping the twins off at school.
“OH MY GOD!!!” my husband exclaimed. “My car!! It’s my car!!”
Turned out he had parked it elsewhere last night, in a different parking lot altogether – luckily in a VERY kind neighbor’s spot. She hadn’t had it towed (we’ve all got assigned parking), and just left a nice note on the windshield.
And thus it was, that I was swiftly returned to my own universe, where things like that should not happen to me on Picture Day.