1 In Lifestyle

Take Me Home to Mom, But Not in Your Car

I know I know. I made all these promises about being a better blog friend and I’ve failed you yet again. I’m a sucky sucky blog friend. But like always, I have a good (and bad) reason for my absence.

I firmly believe in luck, both good and bad, and that people can have a series of either. For the past few weeks, I feel the two have been in an all out brawl to see which one will rule my life. It’s still up in the air as to which one wins. What’s that? Oh you need more than that. Ok.

Well, a few weeks ago my sweet wonderful car (aka The Jellybean) got hit in a parking lot and the evil-doer left sans note. Despite getting The Jellybean repaired and having it detailed, I’m still not sure it’s forgiven me. I don’t blame it really, especially when you realize that me and cars are not on the best of terms in general. Maybe I should have got in contact with someone similar to Burch law firm for more information on how I might pursue this legally.

I know. Silly Miss Snarky Pants thinking that she can be on any terms with an inanimate object. There is not any sort of car karma out there.

Oh my dear reader. How wrong you are. You see right about the same time my car lost a fight with someone else’s bumper, I met a boy. (See? This blog is actually about dating. Sort of. Call me foolish, but I didn’t want to jinx anything by sharing too soon, but the boy is pivotal to the next part of this story.) We’d gone out a few times and were getting along fine, but things were still very much in the “getting to know you” process. And what better way to get to know each other than walking in a lovely park on a bright, sunshiney Sunday afternoon?

I’ll tell you how. You really get to know someone when you get their truck broken into, have to call the cops, file a police report and then have said person meet your (understandably stressed out) parents for the first time as the icing on the cake. Woot!

Yeah. Some lovely soul broke into (and I do mean *broke* into) said boy’s car, stole my purse and everything in it and then ran like all holy heck for the hills. That set off a series of unfortunate events, culminating in a surprise trip to meet my parents. I’m not sure I’ve ever wished for the ground to open up and swallow me whole as much as I did that afternoon. I am still trying to make it up to said boy through the frequent offering of apologetic baked goods. I may need to buy bigger pants, but dang it, I’m sorry about your car!

So yes. Bad, bad, bad car (and truck) luck.

But here’s the thing about luck. It can turn on a dime I suppose. And I say that because somewhere along the way, amid the police reports and insurance claims, the boy realized he like liked me (yes this is middle school again). I think the majority of it has to do with how well I do in the kitchen, but the how isn’t necessarily as important as the what. Because I’ll let y’all in on a little secret here: despite trying very hard not to, I realized I like liked him too.

Now, I don’t know how long this will last. I can’t tell if we’re going to get married (although the general consensus seems to be that I *have* to marry him now to make up for the truck thing), but for right now, it’s fun and I’m happy. Maybe good luck is winning out after all…

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