Just Take Me To the Home...

OK, P.J. Just take me to the home now. I don’t want to pass go. I don’t want to collect two hundred dollars.
I went to Wal Mart this morning to pick up an item or two before we went to central Kansas for a memorial weekend lunch with relatives. When I came out of the Wal, I couldn’t find my pickup anywhere. I knew where I had parked it, as I parked right next to a handicapped stall.
I went up and down the line and even over a line or two just to make sure. I then called Pat and told her. She said she’d come down my way to get me. Meanwhile, I called 911. The nice woman took my information, then transferred me to the place where those reports are taken. I must have been waiting for ten minutes or so for someone to pick up the phone to take my report, all the while thinking about my red pickup going off to God only knows where with God only knows who in it.
Having a vehicle stolen is not a good feeling. I can testify by firsthand experience.
While I was waiting for whoever to answer to take my report (only after I give the report will they broadcast the information to the beat officers…by now it could be in Newton), I looked one more time at the stall which now had another vehicle in it.
I glanced at the tag number of that vehicle and it seemed familiar to me. “Oh, it’s a silver car just like ours. It IS ours!” I had forgotten that I took the car instead of the pickup and had red pickup on the brain instead of silver car.
So I called the nice woman at 911 (after I called Pat and told her to not come…she already knew what had happened because when she went to the garage to come get me, lo and behold, there was the pickup) and just told her that I had found my vehicle. I did not tell her that I forgot which one I was driving.
So, just come visit me in the memory care section of the nursing home. I’ll be there watching reruns of “Rio Bravo”, cheering when the Duke blasts some bad guy because it’ll all be fresh…every time.