A couple of months ago when this happened I was driving a black Honda Pilot. Total mom car and there are lots of them out there. Ran into Home Depot to grab a couple of things, paid and the girls and I headed out to the parking lot. We walked up to our car, I started looking for the keys. This is never easy as my purse is more like a duffel bag and a messy one at that. Finally find the keys and push the unlock button several times. By now the girls are getting impatient and start doing what any kid does in this situation: kicking the tires, drawing pictures in the dirt caked on the doors and incessantly pulling the door handle in effort to get the damn thing open. I mean OVER and OVER and OVER again. I finally deem the key battery dead and proceed to jam my keys in the driver's side lock. That's weird, it doesn't fit right. So what do I do? Try again. And again. Yup, one more time. I know what you're thinking; apple didn't fall too far from the tree. It isn't until now that I actually look inside the car. It's. Not. My. Car.
As a single woman I probably would have been able to duck out of this without anyone noticing. Sadly, the girls and I are nothing short of a circus sideshow and I'm pretty sure every last person in that parking lot knew EXACTLY what was going on. Likely long before we did. Fortunately, I don't beat myself up over these things. The girls and I just laughed really, really hard as we did the walk of shame to the black Honda Pilot two rows over.
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