I believe that the husband and I have slipped into another level of the old rooty-toot fogeys. Friday, no Saturday, was food shopping day. I pulled into a space in the parking lot, opened the door, and saw what looked like sand-over-dried-crud on the ground. Sighing, I carefully placed my feet so as not to touch it and hauled my heavy self out of the car. "Yuck, dried vomit," I said. "Spilled drink," countered the husband. "It's all over here, too." I thought about moving the car, but let the moment past. I took out the grocery bags from the back seat and as I slammed the door I saw another one behind the passenger's seat. "Can you get that bag on your side, please?" The husband did, which meant first opening the front door, next unlocking the back door, and then fetching the bag with his bum arm. Now flash forward about 25 minutes. After loading our bags into the trunk, the husband and I noticed the front passenger side door wide open.