At that moment I knew I wasn't driving the car back home once we picked it up.
"Where are you going?" asked Steve.
"I don't know, but I'm not coming home until either I miss one of you, or I'm tired and want to go to bed."
"What do you want me to do with the children?"
"Why are you asking me?" I retorted, my voice stretching with irritation. "Today's garbage pick-up day; put them out by the curb. They already think the garbage man's a rock star. I'm sure they'll be very happy with him."

As a result, I looked like a pimp in a black-and-white movie, a female pimp who hangs out at the Greyhound bus station in Los Angeles to scoop up runaways.