Walking to my car with an arm load of groceries, I saw a woman standing next to the driver’s side door. With the car between me and her, I couldn’t quite tell what she was doing, but it sure seemed like she was examining the insides of the car pretty thoroughly. She looked confused enough that I didn’t think she was breaking in or anything. And besides, this is small town, middle-of-cornfields USA. Grand theft auto doesn’t really occur to me as an option here.

This was going to be awkward. I wasn’t up for awkward.

Any second now she’d realize she’d gone up to the wrong car and walk away. If I just walked more slowly we could both pretend nothing had happened.

And still she stood there, every ounce of body language projecting confusion and frustration.

So I unlocked my car. I figured when the lights went on she’d get a better look at the interior, realize it wasn’t hers, and still be far enough away from me that we could avoid discussion. I really, really wasn’t up for discussion.

She didn’t scurry away. She opened the door and started getting in.

She didn’t seem the type to hot-wire the thing, but she clearly didn’t have keys that would work. She was getting set to put her groceries across onto the passenger seat. This was no heist. Was it possible it wasn’t my car? The license plate looked pretty familiar, but I really don’t have my license plate memorized. Still, at least two of the letters were right, and the numbers seemed to flow from the letters in a predictable rhythm. Surely this was my car.

“Uh… that’s my car,” I said. I mean, what do you say to someone who is getting into your car?

“Oh my goodness!!” she bounced up and out of the car. “I’m so sorry! I couldn’t figure out why my key wasn’t working, but I guess now we know. I’m such a space cadet!!”

Continuing on in this vein, she practically ran across the parking lot to her own car and got in. And while you’d think it would have been a car similar in make, model, and color to mine, you’d be wrong. I do not drive a silver Prius.