Forlorn Milkshake

I have now had my first experience with locking my keys in the car. I would rather not repeat it. Ever.

Yesterday, I drove to Greensboro (which is 45 minutes from my house) in order to help my friend, Missy, babysit. On the way to her apartment, I stopped at Chick-fil-a to get dinner, and I thought I'd add a peppermint milkshake because I'd never had one before. Also, I'm pretty much obsessed with all things peppermint-flavored. It was not a disappointment--the milkshake was amazzzing. 

When I got to Missy's place, I got out of the car, shut the driver's side door, and walked to the other side to get all my stuff out. I tried to open the passenger's side door, and it was locked: with my purse, keys, laptop, coat, and worst of all my milkshake, inside. I had had, literally, two sips, and now it was staring at me maliciously from inside the car. I may have uttered a few words, that shall not be repeated, before stomping up to Missy's door. 

She graciously let me use her phone. 45 minutes later, my dad showed up with a spare key, and everything in the car was fine. . .except for my delicious milkshake. It was completely melted. It was a little heartbreaking, not to mention frustrating. 

I'm pretty sure that from now on, I will be obsessive about where my keys are at all times.