Last night, my Bestie-J and I were going to join Amazing Co-worker A at a brew-pub to celebrate all of us being done with parent conferences. J was a LITTLE bit excited. Just a bit. A tiny, eensy-weensy bit. When J gets excited...scary things can happen.
She picked me up and we drove there - normal shenanigans ensued, but nothing too crazy or dramatic - other than us complaining about how stinking hungry we were (it was already 7:30, and I hadn't eaten anything since lunch).
We parked. Opened the doors. J asked me to hand over her purse.
Problem. No purse. No wallet. Only her cellphone and keys (this is an issue when we're going into a brew pub to get a beer...or two...normally, I would've just covered her cost, but since you kinda need your ID to purchase a beer, we realized we were in trouble).
Soooooo...I climbed into the driver's seat, rearranged EVERYTHING (we may be the same height, but we are polar opposites in terms of proportion), and I drove her back to her house (we may be rebels, but knowingly driving without a license is not an option in our world). En route, she texted A and told her we were on to "Plan Q": we'll be going to a different brew pub closer to J's house instead. I FINALLY (her words) pulled up to her driveway, she ran out, and I moved back over to the passenger seat.
Not more than 30-seconds later, she climbed back into the car, purse in hand. Also in her hands? A pumpkin pie and two forks.
I quickly deduced that both forks were not for me, although she put up the pretense of it being so. J has a thing for pumpkin pie - her love affair with it rivals that of Cleopatra and Marc Antony. It took us all of seven minutes to drive to the "Plan Q" (I counted), during which I rotated forkfuls of pumpkin pie to my chauffeur.