The Muppet Pat-Down vs. The Big Skoda

Several days ago, after a meeting at our church hall, I did a full, desperate "muppet pat-down," looking for my keys. Not in my pockets. Not in the hall. Suddenly, it hit me like a wet fish: I’d left them in the Suzuki Swift. Frantically, I ran to the car park. Now, Diane, my wife, has told me about a million times that leaving the keys in the ignition is a recipe for disaster. My theory? The ignition is the best place to find them. Her theory? It’ll get pinched. As I burst out the doors, I realized, with absolute terror, that her theory won out. The car park was completely empty. Stink one! I immediately called the police on 105. I gave them my location, confessed I’d left my keys in the car, and that it had been stolen.
Then I made the most gut-wrenching call of all. “Honey,” I stammered. (I always call her ‘honey’ in times like these.) “I left my keys in the car, and it has been stolen.” There was this massive, awkward silence. I thought the call had dropped, but then I heard Diane’s voice, which was anything but ‘sweet-as.’ “Ken,” she barked, “I dropped you off, you muppet!”
Now it was my turn for silence. Embarrassed, I said, “Well, come and get me.” Diane retorted, “I will, as soon as I convince this policeman in his big Skoda that I have not stolen your car!”