Daily Archives: December 15, 2010

Really, Molly?

Every now and then I do somthing that makes me shake my head and think, “Really, Molly? Really?”

There was the time I found some marijuana growing wild outside my brother’s garden at the farm he rented and thought it would be funny to take some home to my deputy sheriff husband. To keep it together, I had the brilliant idea of putting it in a baggie – that way it wouldn’t spill in my car. When I got home and showed it to my husband he was, to put it mildly, less than amused.

Of course, my poor driving record and high instance of getting stopped for speeding probably had a lot to do with his reaction. “What if you’d gotten pulled over? You had a baggie of weed on your seat!”


That was about 15 years ago. I like to think I’ve grown in that time, that I’ve stopped doing things that make the average person think, “Doh!” I’ve grown into a responsible (gulp) adult. I’m raising two teenagers, working the job I love and am writing on the side. I make big decisions all the time.

And yet …

The other morning I was walking the dogs in one of the coldest mornings yet – actual temperature was -5, wind chill was about -20. I didn’t want my daughter standing at the bus stop in that cold so I offered to give her a ride to school. Before taking the dogs inside I stopped at the car to get it started and warming up.

A man was standing nearby and came closer when he saw me start the car. He was a nice-looking man, clean cut, well dressed. We chatted a little bit and then he asked a favor: he lived in the building next to mine and his car wouldn’t start – it wanted to but it just wouldn’t turn over, so would I mind giving him a jump?

I didn’t know what to say. I had about 15 minutes to curl my hair, do my makeup and get dressed for work before I had to leave for the school. I didn’t want my daughter to be late.

I started to make excuses and he said, “Why don’t I just take your car next door, start my car and bring it back?”

I looked at him, looked at my car, waggled my finger at him and said, “Don’t steal my car!” Then I laughed, stepped aside, and said, “Sure.”

Really, Molly? Really?

As soon as I got inside what I’d just done started to sink in. “I just gave someone my car,” I thought. “My car is being stolen at this very moment and I just handed it over.” I started feeling nauseous. I had to tell my daughter what I’d done, in case the car wasn’t there.

It took her all of a half-second to scold me. (Wait! Just who is the mother here?!)

To my relief the car was back in its original spot when we walked outside. We loaded it up and drove away.

And then there was this thought: I never even asked his name. He told me he lived in the building next door, he’d be right back with my car and when I told him not to steal my car he laughed and said he wouldn’t.

Because really, if you told a thief not to steal something, of course he’d change his mind and not take it.

Sheesh, Molly. Really?

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