My sister Robin and her partner Shirley live contentedly in an unpretentious village 50 miles north of New York City, close to Exit 16 on the New York Thruway. Their sprawling ranch-style home is surrounded by towering trees and lush flower gardens, along with neighbors within shouting distance. 

So when they woke up Wednesday morning and noticed that their red Acura was not in its usual spot in the driveway, they were dumbfounded and more than a little upset.

Robin emailed me, “Yesterday, Shirl and I went to get facials downtown so we’d look good for her granddaughter’s wedding this weekend. After that, we ran errands in her truck, had a lovely church picnic and came home to watch the Olympics. In the morning, the Acura wasn’t there.”

They called the police to report the robbery. They cancelled E-Z Pass and spoke with their insurance company. They notified neighbors who, to a person, exclaimed, “Holy Shit!”  Officer Kristin Potter came to the house, took their information and asked for distinguishing marks on the car. 

Shirley’s daughter-in-law, who is with New Jersey law enforcement, suggested a likely scenario. She said, “A car drops people off in the neighborhoods between midnight and 6 AM and they walk through looking for unlocked cars.”  My sister’s house being secluded made it the perfect snatch.


The next morning, after a sleepless night, the police called to tell them the Acura had been found in a RE/MAX lot in the center of town. It had been dusted for prints and impounded at the station. My sister picks up the story from here….

“Getting ready to go, I found the Acura keys in my pocketbook and marveled that the robbers were able to hot-wire such an electronic car as mine. At the window in the police station, Officer Potter inquired about our day and we said we had actually parked in the RE/MAX lot before our facials.”

“Her eyebrows raised slightly. Suddenly, I went red and blurted out that we’d taken TWO cars to the lot and that, after our appointments, had gone off in the truck to buy dog food … leaving the Acura there.”

She concluded: “So it didn’t go to a chop shop, or a side street in the Bronx, and it wasn't filched by Syrian immigrants. It was two old ladies who lost their marbles.”


Well now … I’m the last person to make fun of my older sister and her partner whom we in the family affectionately call “the Aunties.”

Not I who yesterday opened the refrigerator and stood there for two minutes before recalling what I was looking for. Or who on Monday clicked on my Kindle and, as usual, back-spaced 15 pages so I could pick up the story. Or who recently left my keyless-entry Lexus running for half an hour in a parking lot while I strolled through a local art show.

I don’t know anyone in “my decade” who doesn’t have a story to share about misplaced glasses, lost car keys, forgetting names. But in my sister’s and Shirley’s case, there were two of them who totally forgot where the car was. That takes something special, don't you think?

Just bear with us, kids.  Please bear with us!