CONFESSION

I was driving in Beverly Hills, Calif.  The crem' de la creme

if you please.

There were two kinds of people living there.  The common rich and the filthy rich.  They had a private club that they hung out at.  It was way back in a private residential area, away from the tourist.

Only movers and shakers went there.

One late summer afternoon I get a call for it and drive on up there. 

The parking attendant said my fare would be out shortly and directed me to park next to a brand new, sleek, shiney

Jaguar.

It was a deep forrest green.  Who ever owned it was obviously a person of status.  It was parked right next to the entrance where nobody could miss it going in.

It obviously said; I'm important.

When I backed in next to it I heard a noise.  Un-oh.  I pulled up and looked in my rear view mirror.

There was a nipple size dent the size of a quarter in that

shiney, new, forrest green Jaguar.

I was mortified

I had visions of being Bar-B-Qued by the pool

or hung from a cross till the birds picked the

flesh from my bones, not to mentioned

being fired.

I debated with my self what to do.  Confess to the valet or

be discreet. 

About then the valet flagged me.  The people got in the cab and I took them some where.

I've felt bad about that for years but now that I've confessed

I feel much better