Bad Day for Breeze

One of our fun weekend passtimes is to take the kids to the mall near our house, drink Light Frappuccinos and Slushies, shop for clothes, and just stroll around and hang out. Last weekend, as we arrived, I populated an excellent, close-to-the-door, super-wide parking spot with my beloved car Breeze, and we headed inside.

On our way out, I pressed the button to disengage the alarm system. To my horror, the system beeped three times, indicating the alarm had gone off. I looked on my keyfob.

Impact alert.

Someone had hit my car.

Sure enough, on the driver's side, was a new, small but noticeable, vertical door ding. It was at a level that the SUV beside me could not possibly have made.

Some chickenshit had hit my car, then taken off as the alarm screamed in protest.

Bastard.

We continued our day, cruising around, with the top down at times, enjoying the California sunshine and our weekend activities. That evening, Danny and I arrived at the grocery store, and I went into the back to retrieve my purse. I noticed a white mark on the leather seat behind mine.

"What is this stuff ?", I mused out loud, rubbing it with my hands.

Danny came up behind me, and observed,

"That's bird crap."

That's right, a wayward bird had crapped in my car, on the leather seats, and I had rubbed it with my hands trying to figure out what the hell it was.

Damnit.

At least Daniel wasn't with us, sitting in his seat at the time of the bombing. If he had, it would have been a very bad day for him.