My eensy lickle bitsy silver car was stolen tonight. Hopefully she didn't go down quietly. Miss Bruce fights dirty. She is the kind of girl who keeps a razor blade in her ponytail and a bottle of lye in her cupholder just in case someone tries to eff with her. Once I saw her give an old lady a titty twister just so she could get a good parking spot.
Unfortunately for our wallets and homeowners policy, the big stroller was in there, we just put on four new tires, Dave filled up the tank today as a favor for me who complains all the time about the needle on E, and Jake's big boy car seat stays in the car all the time. I like to think that the seat will make it to someone who needs it. The stroller was uber-nice, if not a bit bulky and heavy. It was great for lugging baby gear and groceries around, but I won't miss jamming that thing in the trunk or lugging it in and out of the house. Someone else can be burdened.
The house keys were probably in the car and we are morons who, against our better judgment, left the registration and insurance info in the glove box after our last bout with the state police and their radar guns, which means that our keys and address are in the hands of the bad guys. We will get the locks changed tomorrow and the deadbolt is on tonight. Luckily I can sleep peacefully knowing that the little thugs who stole my car will be busy tearing it apart tonight. And I take great comfort in knowing they will probably be dead at the hands of Philadelphia street violence by the time they are 21. Karma is a bitch, and so was Miss Bruce.