Sicilian Sophia's Saponata

Today is Sunday. My husband's favorite place to eat on Sunday (if I'm not cooking) is an Asian restaurant some 20 plus miles from our home. Near the Asian restaurant is a favorite discount department store. After lunch, we visited the store and made purchases of two cheap outdoor rattan-type chairs and a small grossly inexpensive mosaic table. When we arrived back out at our vehicle, I apparently set it down in his blind spot (I want it to be his fault, so I'll just say that apparently men have blind spots that women don't have). When we arrived home we were without small table. I called the store and they had our table, which we then set out to retrieve, happy that someone had the honesty to take it inside. On arriving back home, I noticed that five mosaic square tiles were missing. They weren't in the SUV, nor were they dribbled along the driveway into the house. We have decided to leave it that way and call it a lesson learned (whatever the lesson might be, and we might not know that until a later date), rather than turn what should have been a 40 mile adventure into a 120 mile adventure (the second trip made it an 80 mile adventure). In all of this we concluded one thing, not having given anything much deep thought: My husband observed that when gas prices go up they go up in sizeable increments. When gas prices go down, they dribble down in pennies, and never is it more evident than when you're inanely running up and down the freeway.