Citizen's Arrest! Citizen's Arrest! Sort of.

The other day I had visions of Gomer Pyle screaming, "Citizen's Arrest! Citizen's Arrest!" at me while I was driving the wife and kids down the road in the family truckster. As I looked into the driver's side rear view mirror (our real rear view mirror fell off the window a few weeks ago and I've yet to fix it), I noticed a snappy white SUV pulling up on my bumper and waving at me to pull over. Of course, I thought of all kinds of reasons why I shouldn't let a complete stranger pull me over, but I did it anyway. Usually, when other drivers are upset with you, they just give you the old "one-finger salute" (also referenced in this blog as the "you're number one!" gesture). So, I figured that there was probably something wrong with my van or that I might have been dragging a dog on a leash for the last several miles (that's my second reference to the movie Vacation). This feller and I would resort to some manly talk about vehicles, oil, grease, tools or some other masculine subject while the women-folk and kids stayed in the trucksters.

WRONG!

As soon as I reached for the door handle, I figured out WHY he was waving me over. For the past few days, there was something sitting on the bumper of the mini-van. Every time I looked at it, I just assumed that one of the kids would take care of it and surely we wouldn't drive off with it still there. Besides that, it would fall off somewhere and I could care less.

WRONG AGAIN!

As I was walking to the back of the car to meet this stranger at the bumper it seemed as if every step was in slow motion. I kept my head low and stared at the ground. I couldn't bear to make eye contact with this guy. I turned the corner at the back of the van and looked up at the bumper to see my hunch revealed. Still sitting--just as the kids left it--on the bumper of the van was a cute little pink bag with a red heart...











And inside that cute little pink bag with the red heart sat six little bouncy balls...










I waived off Mr. Pyle (although I was the one feeling like a "gomer" at this point) and told him I knew what it was and thanked him for pointing it out--we sure wouldn't want to lose all of those bouncy balls.

Even though it's not her fault, I've decided to blame this blow to my masculinity on Aunt Leah, the Bouncy Ball Fairy.