"I'll just break the glass in the door!" she called over her tiny shoulder at me.
"No you won't! " I had spent the last hour arguing with the small woman. She'd locked her keys in her trunk (easy to do) and instead of letting the locksmith come and pop her trunk she decided, instead, to show up at my work to get the spare keys Harry keeps.
Only they were inside her locked house in his old bathroom.
A house we couldn't get in.
Because the key we needed was on another key ring.
In Harry's pocket.
In North Carolina.
"Just have them break the window," was my hubby's suggestion.
"Why do you two keep coming up with the suggestions that involve breaking glass?!" I screamed into my phone.
Three hours later, one trip back to Barboursville, two tow trucks and tow expert Locksmiths later - and the trunk to granny's little red car was popped and the keys were retrieved.
Now, I wasn't perturbed by the keys in the trunk, nor was I upset at having to drive Little Miss Daisy all the way back to a house she didn't have a key to but what did irk me was that I had mentioned to my better half on more than one occasion the need for spare keys to be left with me - the less mobile part of our Trio.
They'll learn to listen to me someday. But until then, I'll just let them shimmy over heat pumps together - I'll wait in the car.