pillaged!

I knew something was amiss when I noticed my change-holder, expertly crafted from the finest popsicle sticks by one of the girls in Aroland, resting uneasily upside-down on the corner of a stack of picture frames I had sitting on my passenger seat.

Swift has been through a lot in the three years I've owned her. She's had her extremeties ripped off not once. Or twice. Three times. She was once kneed in the back by a teenager while he struggled to climb over her. She's been bumped and bruised several times in Northern Ontario, including a vicious attack by a six-year-old hockey-stick-wielding maniac. She's made it over the Rockies twice while at the hands of two adventure-seekers who refuse to stop her at the edge of a field, simply for the photographic opportunity.

But now, in her retirement years, I have decided she needs to spend the rest of her days in peace, commuting only minutes to work everyday with her evenings spent at the end of a calm, quiet, cul-de-sac. Or so I thought.

I stared at the overturned change-holder in wonder, thinking to myself in typical Steve Urkel fashion, Did I do that? But upon further reflection I realized that, no, I could not have unwittingly done something so obvious. Besides, if I did dump out the contents of my change-holder, would they not be glittering back at me from all over the seat and floor? One would think so, but they were, in fact, gone.

The next thing I noticed was the radio. Um, let me rephrase that...

The next thing I noticed was the lack of radio. It was gone. My sole reprieve from the insanity of BC driving ... gone -- expertly and unceremoniously removed from it's once permanent home in the console. And with it, my latest relaxant: The Verve: Urban Hymns. Gone.

Swift had been pillaged for all she was worth: six dollars in change and a CD Stereo system. Oh, Swift.