Make sure you take photos of those you love...

...because you're not sure when they will slip away.

No, we're all fine. I'm talking about my car. My wonderful old beater of a car was apparently stolen sometime between Mistah C's trip to Ralph's and Trader Joe's last night and our trip out this morning to the zoo. We called the tow company (not that it was parked illegally) and they didn't tow it. We filed a police report.

If you know my car, you're laughing your ass off already. My car is (was) a 1988 Volvo 740 that had seen better days. It had 188,000 miles on it. The AC wasn't working well. It was too noisy to have any decent conversations. It boasted an AM/FM radio and not great speakers. I do not know why anyone would want it. I don't think there was any identifying information in the car, but I've filed an identity alert just in case.

But it was a turbo, had a seat that raised high enough for short little me, and I loved it. I learned to drive on that car from my FIL and I think he ended up selling it to me because I just liked the car so darned much. I took good care of it for nine years.

My car's been sitting in the cul-de-sac since I've been on driving restrictions since the C-section. We saw it last night and this morning it was gone. Not a trace of my darling car.

Now the car is eighteen years old, so Mistah C has suggested calling the runaway hotline instead of the car theft hotline. Maybe it's emancipated. I've also thought that I loved the car so much that the universe knew I would not give it up easily and took care of that for me.

At some point we will have to discuss new wheels, which is something I wasn't planning on thinking about until my car was 25 years old, but right now, I'm caught between mourning and hysterically laughing at the thought of someone stealing my car. If you love your car, make sure you get some pictures.