"Hello?" I answered.
What's my license plate number? I remember the DUL part but can't remember the rest! the chef screeched.
"Hold on dear, let me drop everything. I am doing to drive home, go to our file cabinet, and locate your car registration for you. Anything else my love?" I replied in the sweetest voice possible.
Thanks. My car totally got stolen.
"Are you sure dear?" I calmly asked.
Am I sure? Of course I'm freaking sure. I parked on Euclid and now it's gone.
"Did you call the police?" I asked.
Of course I called the police! Who the hell would want to steal a Pontiac Aztek? The worst thing is that all of my knives are in my car.
I gently hung up the phone, found his car registration and text the license plate number to my dear sweet Chef.
I posted an APB on FB and Twitter and crossed my fingers that our dear 'Tek would be found.
An outpouring of support flooded my inbox, twitter, and FB. A friend even told me that the entire City of Cleveland was working behind the scenes to find our ugly purple Aztek. It was kind and thoughtful and made me fall in love with Cleveland all over again. People I hadn't heard from in years sending me their love and prayers that our dear old clunker would be found.
My phone buzzed and I went to check my text. Was our car found? Did the thieves gut it and leave only a purple shell? I scrolled to see a text from Bridget, the Chef's right hand lady (besides me of course). The Aztek had been found!!
The man can cook but hot damn...his memory might be shot.