Dude, Where's My Car?

To recover from my poncho disaster (see previous post) I attended a "seamless sweater class" at my LYS last night. Once a week we'll meet for four weeks, and at the end I am told I'll have my first seamless, hand-knit-by moi-sweater. I ask in advance -- how many times will I frog said sweater before the beautiful orange-y/red alpaca wool caresses my torso? I'll keep you posted.

Anyway, shortly after I arrived at the store and during my search for the perfect yarn for my sweater -- my cell phone rings. It's my mother. From New York. For her to be calling at 9:15 pm her time makes we wonder if something happened.

Me: "Hello?"

TheMotha: "Sob, sob. sniffle. sniffle. My car was just stolen."

Me: "Your car? Stolen? From where? Where are you?" (Thinking: should I get this yarn in green or red? Or is the green is too Christmas-sy?)

TheMotha: "I'm at home. Sitting on my couch. And all of a sudden, I looked out the window and my car isn't parked in my space in the back. It's stolen." Sob. Sob. More sniffles.

I cut her off, already knowing the answer to my soon to be asked question: "Mom, have you called the police or I am the first person you're calling?"

TheMotha: "No. I called you."

Me, thinking: ‘Good call. I'm in San Francisco and can be *very helpful* locating the thieves who made off with your car. In Long Island. 3000 miles away.’

Me, speaking: "Why don't you call the police right now and then call me back."

TheMotha: "OK." Sob, sob. Click.

I got a voicemail a short while later, saying the car was found. Everything is OK. I guess the thieves didn't like that year Lexus. Or the CD collection of a pushing 70-year old woman wasn't cool enough. Or the lack of the "diamond in the back" interior wouldn't fly with friends. Whatever. They left the car behind, TheMotha was going to sleep, and I was about to begin my journey in knitting a seamless sweater.

Fast forward to this morning. 5:45 am (yes, I was on my way to the gym...have to compensate for all this sitting on my ass --knitting is not the most active hobby, you know). I call my mother to get the whole story on the car.

Me: "So what happened with the car?"

TheMotha: "Um, can I call you back later? I'm driving Agatha (6-year old niece) to school and then I'm working at 9. I'll call you when I'm done."

Me, thinking: ‘Why am I getting the bum's rush here?’

Me, speaking: "I'm only in the car for a few more minutes. Just tell me what happened with your car last night."

TheMotha: (speaking really fast, faster than her normal NY fast talk) "It was parked in the front of my building the whole time. I parked it there yesterday and forgot. I have to go to the police station later and apologize to them. Can I go now??" Click.

Two minutes later it was TheMotha on my cell phone again. "And don't go blabbing your big mouth about this to everyone on the west coast." Click.

Me: "Me? Blab? Never!"

So. Let me tell you about that sweater. It's coming along quite nicely.