A Letter to the Crooks Who Broke Into My Car Last Night

Dear Plunderer(s),

I know you saw my sexy little red crossover and thought you had hit the jackpot, but the JOKE WAS ON YOU.  Realistically, you should have known better the second you saw the carseats.  I raid my own car a few times a week looking for cash or change, so believe me from a first hand experience-there’s nothing there.

Let’s go through a few of the things you passed on:

-A box from Dunkin Donuts with a donut still in.  (Which is extremely disturbing because we never leave a donut uneaten.)

-Two car seats covered with dried milk, chunks of puke, and some pee stains.

-All of the sand in my trunk-you could have had your own beach, dude.

-Approximately 34 half-drank water bottles.

-My Aldi quarter.  Your only chance for financial freedom.  Or at least a grocery cart.

-Four shoes-none of which match

-My expensive CD selection: Veggie Tales, Lord of the Rings book on tape, and Adventures in Odyssey.

-My husband’s basketball t-shirt from 1999

-All eleven McDonalds toys.  Some of them were even still in their plastic.

-A bags worth of goldfish, gently stirred with dog hair, mud, and boogers.

-A syllabus from a 2013 college class.

-Ava’s series of Fine Art from Sunday School.

-A diaper with a fiery surprise inside it.

-Six months’ of fast food receipts.

What I’m most impressed with is your extreme sneakiness-because I know if Doghorse had even the slightest inclination that you were out there he would have alarmed us with the call of the Tyrannosaurus Rex.  If that had happened the largest piece of evidence from your break in would have been the ‘fertilizer’ left behind from your fear.


The Lumpy Mother