A Case of Mistaken Identity

Yesterday after grabbing a few things at the grocery store, I walked out into the parking lot and got in the wrong car -- a car that looked like mine, but was parked two parking spaces closer -- we've all done that, right? However, not only did I get in the wrong car, I first walked up to the car, noticed what looked to be like a crayon mark on the side, thought, who wrote on my car with crayon while I was in the store, proceeded to lick my finger and wipe the mark off. After standing there for a second wiping the car with my spit, I opened the driver's side door, and with my one grocery bag in hand, started to get in. . . and was stopped short by the sight of a half topless woman in the passenger seat, one breast exposed, and an eager baby in her lap. She was talking on a head set cell phone. "Oh my God," I stumbled, "I am so sorry." I removed my leg from inside her car and shut the door quickly. I really didn't notice a reaction from her, just that one breast popped out and the gaped-mouth baby.

I walked to my car, the correct car, got in while still repeating "oh my God, oh my God". I had to catch my breath and stop laughing before driving. Luckily, on the way out of the parking lot, she was now standing outside of her car holding the baby and could see that I was in the exact same model and color of car, proof that I was not just some freaky pervert. As I drove by, shrunk down in an apologetic wave, she mouthed "that's ok."

Moral (if there is one): Don't lick the side of a strange car, you may get flashed by the owner.