Well it's about time!

So I sat out on my back patio about to take a large sip of grapefruit juice when a small Filipino man jumped over the fence and offered to rotate my tires in exchange for a muffin. Not being a complete fool I jumped at the opportunity as everyone knows that Filipinos are spectacular tire men. No sooner had I gone inside to fetch the muffin when I heard my V8 roar to life and the truck speed out of the driveway and down the street! Well to say I was irritated would be like saying that the Pope has more than a passing interest in all things God related.

So I ran out the front door as the tailgate of my truck disappeared around the corner. Apparently my sense of direction had stayed in the house watching Oprah because I started running in the opposite direction. "How will I ever catch the wayward Filipino," I asked myself as I sprinted through the park, past a small family of raccoons busy preparing for the summer by learning to play the lute and lip synching to Dr Phil. I grew tired quickly as I thoughtlessly had put on my nap sack filled with golfballs before I left the house.

My accountant appeared with a Gatorade and I took it gratefully from her, staying silent as I drank as I don't actually have an accountant, or, have an actual accountant (mine is virtual). I tipped my non-existent hat at the accountant and set off on foot down a narrow foot path that lead through the forest near my home. Now, I live in a city and I don't recall there being a forest anywhere that I've seen but I figured that since an uninvited Filipino had absconded with my wheels the very least I could do would be to explore a heretofore unknown grove of deciduous tree-like growth. Obviously!

A squirrel jumped from an overhead limb and whispered stock-tips in my ear but I shut it down quick as I already had an aardvark stock broker that was on retainer. The squirrel blew a raspberry at me and left me alone. Fair enough, he was no Korean barber. Or a Filipino truck thief either. What the hell was I doing in this forest? I retraced my steps back up through the park, once again tipping my non-existent hat at the beautiful but otherwise worthless accountant who, out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to me, or the squirrel, handed me another Gatorade and a guitar pick. Hey, you never know when those will come in handy.

I walked back towards my house and I couldn't help but notice that not only was my truck back in the driveway but my house had been freshly painted! And my kids had grown up and left for college! My key still worked in the door lock but I broke the window anyway and squeezed through the broken glass as sometimes I like putting myself into grave peril for no other reason than "because".

There was a note spray painted onto my fridge from the Filipino, faded with age (the paint, not the Filipino although I understand that people from the south Pacific fade as they move away from the equator) stating that he'd meant no harm when he "borrowed" the truck. He'd merely gone around the block to pick up his sister and drive her to the hospital where she gave birth to a 9 pound, bouncing baby ottoman. 

He, his sister and the footrest we're doing fine.