Saturday night

Not so long ago I would have been out on a Saturday night, at least at a friend's, dinner, or a local bar.  Last Saturday night we were home playing Scrabble.  Which was fun.  I might add that I won by about 20 points, but it could have been an addition error.  This Saturday we had my husband's friend for dinner, then they went out to play some pool, and I was reading on the couch, contemplating going to bed.  I heard a large truck outside and vaguely thought it might be an oil delivery in the neighborhood and looked at the reflection in the window.  It definitely wasn't an oil truck, instead, some sort of truck with a long platform bed, backing up to retrieve a car parked in front of my neighbor's house.  It belongs to a tenant of the house across the street.  The police were behind the truck, blocking the street, though I'm not sure why.  No one could actually have attempted to go around it, but the cop seemed pretty serious about his job, legs straddled, approaching any car who thought about waiting out the situation.
My husband likes to watch the repo show on TV.  The one with the colorful characters who usually get into arguments on the job, picking up the cars.  I watched it too occasionally, until I saw the disclosure that revealed possible "dramatization," and then it just wasn't as appealing.
I was dually thinking about Sam missing the big truck that he would have watched for a good twenty minutes and lamenting the fact that my Saturday nights were now watching the car be repossessed, at home with the baby sleeping, when I realized that my car was still safe in the driveway, and that perhaps this car's owner was out at a bar, and would return to discover her car gone.  I stood for a while hoping the owner was okay, thinking I hadn't seen her in a while.
Big trucks and sleeping babies, I'd much rather be home, cozy on the couch, with my book, and cat curled at my feet.