A little more than a year ago, we finally became a two-car family after sharing a car for several years and haven’t really been in the other’s car unless we’re going on vacation or to church. Other than that, his car is his, and mine is mine.
This weekend, that all changed. (If you don’t know why we were forced to share a car, please read my post about annoying heroes and real life.) Late yesterday, my husband suddenly couldn’t find his phone and was absolutely convinced it had to be in my car.
All right, fine. He can go look for it. But I already know it’s not out there. I saw it earlier that day in the house, but no, he doesn’t believe me. (Of course!)
So he goes out to look for it, and when he comes back, I want to know if he put all the contents of my glovebox back.
He gave me a weird look, and it was all I could do not to laugh.
While most—normal—people have things like their insurance information, registration papers and maybe a spare pair of sunglasses in their glovebox, I have some rather obscure items in mine.
Here we go:
- Insurance card
- Registration information
- Blank notepad
- Two happy meal toys
- Two pens
- 1 Feminine product…
- 1/2 roll of TP
- 1 full-length, unread novel