There's something about small town life that's got a unique appeal.
People can be nosy and seriously get on my one remaining nerve, but it's a price I willingly pay for the benefits of living where I do.
When my car quits, getting a ride home is no problem. Friends and relatives seem to be constantly coming to collect me from here and there. They might give me a bad time about it, but they show up.
I have a tendency to forget the strangest things.
When the tags and registration for my little old car came, I put the envelope into the glove compartment and forgot all about it until our esteemed local policeman noticed.
He called to verify that they had indeed been sent because I didn't want to search for something that wasn't there. He didn't want me getting picked up someplace out of town where I might get a ticket for having tags that expired three months before.
When he told me to check my car for it, I found the envelope right where I had put it.
While I signed the registration card, he put the tags on for me.
It's stuff like this that makes me glad I live where I do. The whole county pitches in, watching out for me.
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