Last night we attended the Chelsea versus Sounders soccer (football in Brit-speak.) My friend, Jean and four of our offspring all piled into the Explorer and headed to SoDo for some afternoon fun in the sun, and we weren’t disappointed.

Jean and I opted for the two donated ‘cush’ seats in the ‘club section’ of the soccer stadium while the younger set stood the entire game in the less expensive seats. The less pricey seats have an up-close and personal view of the action but the ’standing up’ thing gets old after a while. I’ve attended every game and not once has; ‘down in front’ shouted in a pleasant manner ever accomplished a seated posterior. My friend and I also took advantage of the massive brunch served prior to the game. Not once did I mention Jean’s suspicious over-loaded satchel when she left the buffet—although the sausage link trailing out the side pocket of her purse did look rather amusing. As we munched on our portable feast and discussed the various merits of soccer games in general, a test message from my oldest son, Austin beeped with directions to the car after the game. He had thoughtfully dropped us in front of the stadium prior to the event.  Alina (my son, Conner’s girlfriend) was on crutches precluding her from humping a long distance.

So the text says, ‘Just past first and Massachusetts on the right in little nook.’ Simple enough, I guess—I’ll worry about that when the game is over. Jean locates Massachusetts on her iphone as the game winds down. If you know Jean, you would not think this is strange.

We leave the game, sadly having lost 0-2 and run into one of Jean’s offspring on the way to the car. He confidently leads the way while gaily chatting with some old acquaintances. Chris talks to everyone for as long as they will listen, a good quality if you have something interesting to say. Fortunately, Chris always has fascinating tidbits to impart.

The Explorer is either stolen or lost—it’s certainly not on first and Mass. After briefly wandering about in the hot sun, I call Conner. “Mom, we are right here.” “Where?” I shout. There are lots of cars driving by, which necessitates loud shouting. “In the alley.” Says Conner. I sigh and hang up the phone.

“Mom, mom, mom.” Shouts a far off voice. “Jean, can you hear that? I could swear it’s Conner.” “I don’t hear anything, you’re imagining things and its hot out here. Where is your feckless son?” Fortunately Chris locates the car just around the corner in a parking lot, not a little ‘nook’ as previously described.

Once in the car, I simply explain that this is called a parking lot and not a nook and why couldn’t I find you when I’m sure I heard you yelling. “Gawd, mom, you didn’t end your phone call, that was me yelling at you on the phone.”

“Oh.”