I had the best menu last night at work. The residents had the choices of Lo Mien Noodles, Vegetable and Chicken Curry or Gyros with Tzatziki. I was giddy to prepare all of these meals, though not overly confident that they would all pass their, "Is there a lot of meat in it?" test.
I needed to run to the Mediterranean market for the gyro meat and pita as well as some Greek yogurt to make the Tzatziki. And as I had trekked a good portion of the way home, I figured I could drive a couple extra miles to grab my mandoline. Uniformly sliced vegetables are dreamy, after all.
When I got to Casa Del Mar (I'm trying out names for the house -- feel free to weigh in) I left the car running in the driveway, opened the garage door and zipped into the house to quickly get the mandoline and say a happy "hello" to the cat when I heard a fairly dramatic CRASH! My first reaction was to ask Charlie what on earth she had knocked down, but realized that a nine pound feline was not capable of creating such a disaster. I carefully turned around and could see Hot Red Speed through the garage window. But remember. . .I had left the van in the driveway. Something told me this was not a good situation.
I calmly (Seriously. I didn't panic at all. Martin will never believe it though.) exited the front door (since there was a ton of metal pressed against the back of my garage), got in the van, confirmed that I had, in fact, left it in gear (you know I was desperately hoping I wouldn't have to take the blame for this, right?), backed up a bit, heard crazy scraping sounds, moved the wheel barrow that was making said sound, and carefully, s l o w l y, made my way back to the driveway, amazed that I had not taken out the door rails or the back wall or my front fender or a slow-moving squirrel (hey, it was a very cold day). I will need to replace one piece of trim on the garage -- probably $15 max, and did a bit of a number on the paint on the passenger side of the van, but really, for all of my stupidity, I'm remarkably fortunate.
And without so much as skipping a beat, I returned to the house for the mandoline, grabbed a quick drink (you can read that any way you'd like) and headed back to work. Shaken, but not stirred.