Queen of the Rummage Sale

A couple weeks ago, my friend Lindsay and I stopped at Target after church. Each of us had several necessities that we needed to purchase and Target is probably one of my favorite places ever. We walked through the doors and as I went to grab a cart, I realized I had left my coupons in the car. I told Lindsay that I had to go back out to get them and she had a look on her face that screamed, "Coupons?! Are you kidding me?" She continued to make fun of me throughout the store. Once we checked out, I looked at my receipt and noted an $8.75 savings in coupons alone, to which I said, "How do like them apples?"

My regular day off is usually the only time that I have to run errands. On Friday, there were a few things on my list needing to be accomplished, one of which was to drop my lovely black boots off to the shoe repair man because the nail on one of the heels has been exposed for approximately one year. The only shoe repair place I know of is located in the shopping center next to my old apartment complex. Since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to make a visit to my ol' dwelling place. More specifically, I decided to make a visit to the complementary dispensers for doggy poo bags (the second time I have done so since moving out). Why purchase bags when you can just as easily obtain them for free?

When I got home, I pulled into my parking spot, shut off the car, and went to open the door. As I pulled the handle, it came off in my hand. The door remained shut. I proceeded to climb out through the passenger side. Abby, who was along for the ride, looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Since that moment two days ago, I have been climbing out of my car through the passenger's side. I can still get into the driver's seat from the outside, but my getting out poses a problem. The way I see it, I'm still one step above the family in Little Miss Sunshine. Several people have asked me when I am going to get it fixed. Fixed? Why? I embrace my ghettoness.

As I was driving the beltway earlier today, I looked down to my odometer. It was a milestone, reading 99,999. Luckily, my exit was just ahead. I pulled to the side of the ramp and took a picture with my phone to send to Steve, my brother-in-law and original owner of the vehicle. Once the photo of the 9's was taken, I continued to drive home as I called Steve to share the momentous occasion with him and my sister. The odometer turned over as I entered my neighborhood.



Still talking to Steve, I made a comment about how I now know why my car is falling apart and I have to climb through the passenger side door to get out. To which he replied, "Why don't you just roll down the window and pull the outside handle?"

Genius, I tell you.