The other day C. Beth relayed a scatterbrained moment, after reading a similar tale from a friend of hers. I laughed out loud at the story, and it reminded me of one of mine:
One Sunday morning, when I was pregnant with Zachary and my parents were visiting, my husband and I took separate cars to church. He had to be there early (um, now that I consider it, I think it was because I'd forgotten to recruit anyone to fill the communion trays and he was fixing the problem by doing it himself), so my parents and I came in my car a little later. We parked, went in, attended class, attended worship service, visited a while (we're always the last one out of the building), and finally headed back out to the car. I was digging in my purse for the keys as we walked, slowing and finally stopping in the center of the lot as I continued to look for the keys. I looked up to say, "Mom, I really can't find my keys," to see my mom and dad standing at the car, incredulous, with the doors open.
"What?" I asked, puzzled.
"It was open," my dad replied, laughing and shaking his head. Well, I guess it was, since the keys were in the ignition and the car was running.
My first thought was, "Do we have to recount this episode to James? He'll just freak out," but James arrived just that moment as I was still standing in the middle of the parking lot. He said, "Deanna, do you always do this?" My mom could barely get the words out through her laughter: "Yes, she always leaves the keys in the ignition, the car running and the doors unlocked, in downtown parking lots, unattended, for hours!"