Pretty is as Pretty Does

 It’s 5:00, on a Tuesday afternoon in August, and I am in the trunk of my car in the parking lot of Costco, wearing a black sundress with white polka dots. Just to be clear—I am the one wearing the sundress, not the car-- or the parking lot. I am very, very pretty.

I can explain. I am in the trunk because my keys are locked in the front seat of my car. Along with my cell phone and credit cards. And the iced coffee that precipitated this whole kerfuffle; coffee that was purchased to avoid just this kind of scenario: I tend to overbook myself; I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m., and I’m pretty (!) sure I’m going to need the caffeine to make my brain function properly. I have an open trunk, a cartload of Costco goodness, and am climbing into the trunk to see if I can reach thru the 6”x 12” armrest opening and unlatch the backseat. If I can do that, I can crawl through, unlock the car from the INSIDE and no one would be the wiser that—in an attempt not to spill my iced coffee—I instead dropped my keys into the seat next to the coffee. There’s also the part where I pushed the lock button instead of the unlock button—twice—but it takes too long to fully explain. You wouldn’t be reading about how pretty I am; you would instead be making a mental note to lock your car as you read how much zucchini I’ve inadvertently grown. Hopefully, your mental note would also include the caveat to avoid locking your keys in your car. Especially with your cell phone. Because it is very, very difficult to discretely summon assistance without it.

Did I mention I was wearing a sundress? Because I am. Decorum requires that I climb all the way into the trunk and curl my legs inside because-- dress reasons. As I am lying curled up in the back of my trunk in a busy parking lot it occurs to me that the only thing that could make this ridiculous story even better is if some well-meaning passers-by shut the lid of my trunk. I begin to giggle. I also note that I should probably vacuum my trunk more often.

Eventually, I accept the reality that my arm is too short to reach the seat latch and I’m going to have to exit the trunk-- as though it were a perfectly normal place to exit a vehicle-- and ask the kind people at Costco to Google “locksmiths near me,” and call said locksmith.

I do, they do. One hour and $154 later I am reunited with my coffee. I was right—I really, really needed it.