It Could Be Worse

My car was broken into tonight.

At the gym.

My passenger window is gone.

So is my work bag.

With my color-coded calendar.

And my camera.

So is my lunch box.

But a nice guy who works at the gym covered my window in styrofoam and plastic.

And my purse was returned to the front desk by a witness.

And everything was in it.

And my iPod is still there.

And my GPS.

And my Sirius.

And my car.

So, when the nice kid fixing my window told me that I was in a surprisingly good mood considering the circumstances, I told him, "it could be worse."

But that doesn't mean I didn't curl into the fetal position and cry when I got home.

And I think I sat on a piece of glass on the way home and cut my butt.

But it could be worse.