A few weeks ago, I bought a six-pack of my favorite beer at a little package store around the corner from our house.  Or so I thought.  When I brought the beer into the house, there were only five beers in the six-pack holder.  That’s odd, I thought.  I vaguely remembered hearing something “clink” in the gravel in the driveway as Molly and I got out of Luke’s truck, so we went outside in the dark and searched the driveway.  We saw no sign of the missing beer.  My thought again was “that’s odd”.  Luke’s thought was “the store ripped us off”.  He thinks that a combination of me being oblivious and not noticing that my six-pack was indeed a five-pack, and the evil cashier who allowed us to pay for six, but receive five, was the reason for the missing bottle.  I swear on all that’s holy and brewed with hops and barley that there were six beers in my hand when I left the store.  Beyond that, in the three minute ride home and walk into the house, you’ve got me.  I’m still convinced that it’s going to show up.  I look for it in the driveway when I go out to work in the morning.  I keep checking under the seat in Luke’s truck.  I’m optimistic.  It’ll show up.

I thought of this story this morning because I added a lip gloss to the swirling vortex that is our gravel driveway.  I heard it fall, I know it fell, yet I can’t find it anywhere.   I was standing next to the car, there is a limited number of directions it could have gone, but still I can’t find it.   Under the car?  Next to the car?  Under the deck near the driveway?  In the flower bed?  Nope.  Gone.  It’s sort of scary.  Let this be a message to all of you, if you visit my house, please don’t fall in the driveway.  I may never see you again.  But wherever you end up, at least you’ll have a beer and a nice shade of lip gloss.


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