Yesterday, after an interrupted night of sleep, due to a stream of violent thunderstorms that rolled through the area,
my morning started out with . . . . . .
"Mom, do you know that you left your sun roof open?"
My entire demeanor immediately changed.
I threw on some shoes, and went outside to survey the damage.
It wasn't as bad as I had expected.
I think the high winds saved me from having to scoop the car out with a bucket.
I dried the front seats off with a towel, removed the water-filled cup holders,
and dumped them out onto the pavement.
I carefully rolled the sides of the floor mats up, creating a funnel shape that allowed the water to
spill out onto the driveway.
Fortunately, other than a few water-logged receipts sitting in the center console,
I had not left anything valuable in the car.
It was 7:00 a.m., a balmy 60 degrees, and the sun was breaking through the clouds, so
I left the sun roof as it was, and opened the windows, to allow the interior to dry out.
Forty-five minutes later . . . . . .
It seems awfully dark in the house, I thought to myself.
"Oh, shit!"
It was raining again.
Like the movie, Goundhog's Day, I started the process all over again,
with the exception of one thing -
my morning started out with . . . . . .
"Mom, do you know that you left your sun roof open?"
My entire demeanor immediately changed.
UGH.
I threw on some shoes, and went outside to survey the damage.
It wasn't as bad as I had expected.
I think the high winds saved me from having to scoop the car out with a bucket.
I dried the front seats off with a towel, removed the water-filled cup holders,
and dumped them out onto the pavement.
I carefully rolled the sides of the floor mats up, creating a funnel shape that allowed the water to
spill out onto the driveway.
Fortunately, other than a few water-logged receipts sitting in the center console,
I had not left anything valuable in the car.
It was 7:00 a.m., a balmy 60 degrees, and the sun was breaking through the clouds, so
I left the sun roof as it was, and opened the windows, to allow the interior to dry out.
Forty-five minutes later . . . . . .
It seems awfully dark in the house, I thought to myself.
"Oh, shit!"
It was raining again.
Like the movie, Goundhog's Day, I started the process all over again,
with the exception of one thing -
This time, I closed the sun roof and windows.
About an hour later, I noticed a text on my cell phone, from my son.
He had sent it earlier that morning (about 7:30),
when he was on his way to school.
It read:
"You might want to close the sun roof and windows. It is raining again."
No comments:
Post a Comment