You arrive in your driveway and close the car door, locking it tightly as you do every day, with the purpose of letting some of the more embarrassing things you keep in there stay secret. As you walk up the driveway, you quickly check your face for any signs of smeared lipstick, and similarly check your pockets for anything that might be incriminating. The last thing you want is a repeat of the last marriage. What a bloody mess that was... literally. "IS THIS SOME KIND OF FUCKING JOKE?!"