Last week, I became a proud owner of a black Jeep Wrangler. Never owned one before and I made the decision to buy one at this stage in my life. Love that vehicle! So you can imagine the numb feeling in the pit of my stomach when my dream ride was put in the shop after five days. Why you ask?

Last Sunday my youngest son David asked if he could barrow my ride for the afternoon. I said sure! It wasn't even thirty minutes later when I recieved that phone call. There was a lump in my throat before I even answered the call. Ever get that feeling? So I answer the call. David proceeded to share a story about how he drove to a friends house, all four friends wanted to experience the jeep thrills, and felt the the hard cover needed to come off the vehicle... you know... for that second to none experience, right?

SMASH! SHATTER! Proceeded by ALOT of F-Bombs...

The boys dropped the cover and the back windshield shattered. All eyes were on David. They knew a call must be made, if not two. One would be to me, the other to Johnson's Funeral Home.

Long story short, David and the responsible parties involve bought me a brand new windshield for my jeep. All is happy in the Land of St. James.