I went from a flush of anger to flushes of embarrassment as car after car of people I know drove past and beeped at me. It was like I was 18 again. I swear if I run out of petrol this week at the Mary St lights during peak hour traffic I'll break out in zits and start listening to angsty songs on its stereo. This car is the proverbial Fountain of Youth.
Finally managed to break into the passenger side but not, of course, until I'd rung my father-in-law to come save me. If there was any doubt Tracey and I were meant to be together they evaporated in a puff of wonder when I learned Ken was an ex-RACQ breakdown service man. Seriously, as a P Plater I spent more time chatting to his co-workers by the sides of roads in Brisbane and Surfers Paradise than I did my drinking buddies. He was perfect for me.
Home now, so all good, although I fear when my daughter does the same sort of thing in the next six months or so (as she inevitably will) my well prepared, finger wagging parental speech about thinking ahead and having a second key cut might be met with a 'people in glass houses' one of her own.