Don’t Cry For Me Argentina. The truth is I neeeeeever left you… Okay. Moving on…
Because I am Middle Aged and getting battier by the minute, I locked my keys in the car. I was at the happiest place on earth, Albertson’s.
I live two (2) blocks away. The problem is I was wearing my notorious 4-inch heels.
I started up the hill. With each step I muttered an explicative. My shoes were KILLING me.
A gigantic Mercedes pulled out of traffic. A man emerged with the bravado of a Matador.
“Dear God, he is NOT waiting for me,” I thought.
He approached and, I believe, bowed. He said, “Miss, your bags look heavy, may I offer assistance?”
One of the reasons I am alive is because I don’t accept rides from strangers. But I was going to die if I took another step. Death by four-inch heels…
I allowed the stranger to give me a ride home. I thought he was going to drive to a remote location and kill me when he missed the first turn.
He took me home instead, waited for me to retrieve my spare key then returned me to my car. I thanked him. He asked for my number.
The funny thing is I’d been out with “The King” the night before. I
left my cell phone in his sport coat.
“The King” heard the call from the Argentinean the next day.His sport coat was "ringing" in his closet.
“The King” thought it was me trying to locate my phone. So he called the man back.