I opened my trunk over the weekend to put in some groceries and saw a box of gloves and some wiping cloths. I asked my husband if they were his and he stared at me blankly. “Nope. Not mine.” he replied.
I thought perhaps the auto guy left them behind and I didn’t want him to miss the gloves so I drove to his house down the street to drop them off. When I showed him the gloves, he gave the same look my husband did. “No. Not mine.”
I checked with my brother. They weren’t his either.
‘NATURALLY’, I assumed they belonged to the guy who keeps breaking in to my car. Great. Now the guy is not only stealing from me, he’s framing me for other crimes. I could see myself on trial, “Yes your honor, those gloves and wiping cloths were in my possession and were identical to the ones used to commit the crime but I swear, someone put them in my car.” My brother suggested I take the box to the police for finger printing (clearly we share active imaginations and we watch too much CSI).
I called my husband and told him I was now terrified the thief won’t leave me alone. “He is taunting me!” I yelled. “He’s still in my car! What’s next? A parking ticket from Tijuana? A speeding ticket from Compton?! A stocking cap?!?”
“OK. So, maybe the gloves are mine.” he said trying not to snicker too loudly.
Turns out, my husband didn’t want me to know he was in my trunk because he noticed the small tool kit I bought him for his birthday and didn’t want to hurt my feelings since he saw it too early. He didn’t think I would actually try to return the gloves to the mechanic nor did he think I would question my brother about it and consider police involvement.
If I blow my debt out of proportion as much as I did the gloves, I think I’m in pretty good shape.
And yes, hubby apologized profusely.