Not My Car

Sunday, I tiptoed out the door to the store before anyone but the dog and cats were up.  It was a beautiful morning.  Still cool, light breeze.  Had my little grocery store tote bag in hand to carry my groceries back it.  (Hint:  to save money at the store, carry a small tote bag to bring your stuff home in.)

Put my brain on auto-pilot.  Ok, I admit, it had never been engaged as of yet.  My Sunday started with my poor, old Mr. Coffee burping my coffee, complete with grounds, all over the kitchen counter and onto the floor.  If it is Ms. Coffee, she would have never done that to me.  I had emerged from my room, expecting my first cup of coffee to watch the first of the Tour de France with and had to clean up.  Not a good start.  At least I wasn’t trying to get ready for work.

So, off I flip flop my way to the store.  Get my exercise in so I can come home and not feel guilty about sausage, biscuits and eggs for breakfast……before my nap.

Getting to the back entrance for the complex was a surprising sight.

It didn’t belong up on the back of another vehicle.  It belonged pulling up to some Hollywood premier, flashing lights, woman in ankle length furs and platinum blonde hair, in diamonds, climbing out of the back.

I’m not a car person.  As long as it gets me from point A to point B, I don’t care.  But I do have to admit this was a nice looking ride. Wonder what it would look like with a bike rack on the back?