There was a tense minute (closer to 30) where the foreman at the garage 1: couldn't find my car, then 2: couldn't find my keys. I raged silently because the electricity was out due to some impressive storms that rolled through the area and the receptionist at the garage apologized profusely and said that if their computers were up and running, this wouldn't have happened, because she could have looked up where Lucy was being stored.
The foreman came back, soaking wet from running between the buildings, and huffing and puffing, "'05 PT Cruiser. Came in for hail damage, right?"
I shook my head, "No. I hit a deer. Well...it hit me, technically speaking..."
I trailed off and this look of total comprehension crossed his face, "Oh. OH. Well, that explains why I couldn't find it."
He ran back out into the rain and five minutes later, I was headed home in my baby. As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy's gas light came on.
"You're fucking hungry already?"
I cranked up the radio and kissed the steering wheel, "Okay, I'm sorry. I missed you."
And then I came home, jumped on the internet, and heard about season 7. Hells to the YEAH. This totally makes up for the fact that I think my mother has taken up drinking. More on that later. I have to go work. In LUCY! MY LUCY! HAI BB! HAI!