That's Not My Rav4

Charlie is finally getting into books; as in, he grabs one and doesn't always run away after two pages have been read.  A couple of his favorites are "That's Not My Airplane" and "That's Not My Snowman," by Fiona Watt and Rachel Wells; it's a sensory book where each page has something fun to feel.  For example, "That's not my snowman, his arms are too wiggly" and there's a picture of a snowman with stick arms made of corrugated cardboard.  These books came to mind today when I accidentally walked up to the wrong car in my church's parking not. 

"That's not my Rav4," I thought to myself.  Then I finished my own touchy-feely book.

"That's not my Rav4.  It's windows are too clean."

"That's not my Rav4.  It's exterior is too shiny."

"That's not my Rav4.  You can clearly see that it's white."

"That's not my Rav4. There are no goldfish crackers all over the carseats."

"That's not my Rav4. There is no overturned crockpot of spaghetti sauce from 2 days ago in the trunk."

"That's not my Rav4.  Its oil has been changed every 5,000 miles."

"That's not my Rav4.  It smells nice."

"That's not my Rav4.  There is no gum stuck to the seats."

"That's not my Rav4.  There are no used Kleenexes on the floor."

"That's not my Rav4.  There are no sippy cups from last week wedged under the seats."

"That's not my Rav4.  I can easily locate its ice scraper."

"That's not my Rav4.  I don't see any missing library books inside."

"That's not my Rav4.  There are no bungee cords that my kids are playing with instead of toys."


Then I walked further down the isle and found it.


"That's my Rav4.  It is absolutely filthy."