I visited the zoo again. I should know better; this never ends well for me.
I was in good company at the zoo. One of my dearest friends from college was meeting us there. After college, Husband and I moved to another state, and then we moved to a different state, and then my friend moved to a different state, and we thought that was that. Then somehow the planets aligned and we both moved back to the state - nay, CITY - where we first met. Now we are able to see each other EVERY DAY if we want, at least for another year or so after which Husband and I will depart to see the great big world once more.
So, I met my friend and her two children at the zoo. All went well. We looked at animals. I ate a questionable hot dog. But when we said our good-byes and parted ways, something strange happened. She went home and wrote a beautiful Facebook post waxing philosophical on the value of friendship. I, on the other hand, started to feel all cold and shaky-like. I was glad to retreat to my van. I wanted to arrive home as soon as possible, and convince my children to nap at the same time, so I could lie down too.
Now, this zoo has a ridiculous parking lot, so to avoid all that tomfoolery I parked on a side street a couple blocks away.
I headed down the street to where the van WASN'T parked. Hmm... I thought. Was it the street over? I walked around the block. No van. Hmmm.... I thought. Was it the block over? Off I traversed, pushing Toddler in the stroller with Preschooler in tow.
After walking all the way around four blocks, I did not find the van. By this time Toddler was asleep in the stroller, Preschooler was exhausted and cranky from walking, and I was pretty sure I was going to die right there on the sidewalk outside a beautiful Tudor home.
I called Husband and sobbed that I was not going to take one step further and he had leave work to come pick me up right then and there or so help me God I was going to have some sort of nervous breakdown and the owners of the beautiful Tudor home were going to have to scrape my remains from the sidewalk and deposit me at the local mental health institute, which at this point sounded like some sort of Nirvana.
One hour later, Husband came to pick us up. "Where was the car?" he inquired. I had no explanation. Either it was stolen or it had been towed. The latter was more likely. I had parked in a "two hour" zone, and while overstepping that time limit might not be a big deal elsewhere, the authorities in my town were pretty anal about ticketing and towing. Home we went, where I could be sick in peace and privacy.
The next morning, I called the police station and towing company, but no one had any record of towing my car. Uh-oh. Was it actually stolen? It was a remote possibility, but I figured that since my car's empty fuel light was on, the thieves couldn't have gotten far. Suckas!
We decided to take one more cruise around the neighborhood just to make sure, before declaring the van stolen. Off went zoo, where we found the van. One block away from the zoo. WHERE IT SHOULD'VE BEEN IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Now I'm not allowed to go to the zoo by myself EVER AGAIN, which is probably for the best. If I go, I will be eaten by a carnivorous giraffe, and then who will clean our bathrooms, WHO? No one, that's who.
It's for the best.