(Today's writing prompt was...Why didn't you call me?)

Ellen’s humiliation was complete. The one person in the world she did not want to see at this moment was John, but here he was, getting a first class shot at her rear end sticking out of the car window.

When she stormed out of the house a couple of hours ago, her intentions were to teach him a lesson. He couldn’t keep coming home late without at least calling. Dinner was ruined once again, but her anger over that had morphed into fear, then panic and back to anger by the time he walked in with a sheepish grin on his face…as if that would make everything better.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she had screamed at him.

Without giving him a chance to answer she snatched the car keys from his hand, “I’ll teach you a lesson. Maybe you’ll see what it’s like to worry about someone.”

She had driven around for hours, then stopped by Walmart. They were the only store open at 2:00 am. Another hour of wandering up and down the aisles without a single thing in her cart brought her to her senses…well, that and the suspicious stares of the Walmart associates.

Her anger was spent and her weary body just wanted to go home and crash in her own bed.

The parking lot was empty except for a few employee cars and John’s Lexus. Ellen fumbled around in her purse for the keys, but came up empty.

“No”, she thought, “I didn’t.” but peering through the window at the keys dangling from the ignition confirmed her suspicions. Now what?

She noticed the back window was opened just an inch. Pushing with all her might, she managed to force it down about halfway. She stepped back to gauge the size of the opening and decided she could make it.

Throwing her purse onto the back seat, she dove in headfirst. It wasn’t until she found herself hanging half in and half out of the car and unable to budge in any direction that she realized how severely she had underestimated the size of her butt.

Her cell phone lay within her reach, but she could not bring herself to make the call.

“Hey, lady, what do you think you’re doing? You stealing that car?”

Mortification and a lack of breathing space prevented her from answering in more than a grunt.

“You stay right there…don’t move. I’m calling the cops.”

She heard the voice reporting her crime, heard him give them her license plate number, heard the sirens then heard the thinly veiled snickers of the first officers on the scene.

“This is my husband’s car. I’m not stealing it.” Ellen managed.

“Well, we’ll know soon enough,” said the officer, “The owner’s on his way.”

Moments later, she heard John’s voice.

.”Darlin’, why didn’t you call me?”

If I ever get out of this car…I’m gonna kill him!

(Copyright © 2009 Jan Christiansen. All rights reserved.)

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