I wrecked the car today.
Well, wreck is a strong word. What I really did was scrape it.
There was this gate, see. Why do they feel the need to gate off the football practice field anyway? And if you're gonna gate off the practice field, why make it such a small entrance that only one car at a time can go through? How am I supposed to swing a giant suburban into a small single entrance while trying to avoid mudholes, mini-vans and a gaggle of 12 year olds playing grab-ass with a football? And how am I supposed to explain the twenty-four inch swath of yellow, red and reflctive paint that now decorate the passenger side of my car to my husband? No, nothing makes you feel like a sixteen year old quicker than having to try to explain what you were thinking when you didn't veer back to the left when you first heard the side of the car hit something. "I DON'T KNOW! MAYBE IT WAS THE GOLD WINDSTAR WAITING IN THE LEFT HAND LANE TO TAKE HER TURN GETTING OUT AFTER I FINISHED GOING IN!"
Nope, nothing makes you feel like a sixteen year old faster.
Except for that time last year when I was backing my Mom's Honda CRV out of the driveway and ran into that tree.
I'm an excellent driver.
2 comments:
Ouch! So sorry to hear that.
I'm an excellent driver as well. I scraped the shit out of my car on a pole that came outta nowhere in a parking garage. I got out and screamed at the pole because it just made sense at the time.
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