Heading home last night, another car hit mine. I was listening to The Church, just singing along, and my car was turned into a pinata. It was like in those old Warner Brothers cartoons, when one character would place a bell over the other character's head and strike it with a hammer! Things in my front seat flew into my back seat! And my world shook for several seconds…
I was on the fast lane on the 55 freeway. The guy behind me had received a call from his son and hadn't seen that I'd stopped.
And hit me.
Now, to answer your immediate question, I'm fine. I'm in some pain but I can walk. My car is a bit smashed.
This guy, Felipe, felt terrible about it. Hey, it was an accident. He didn't do this intentionally. How could I be mad at him?
This reminded me of a conversation I'd had with Vicky. She had said, "Anybody hits me, they're going to court!" She was positively feral, ranting about buckets of blood and first-born children and punitive amounts so high their grand-children would still be paying it. This had caused quite a row. I'm not very litiginous; it's just not my nature. (Keep your irony markers honed in the coming weeks.)
Well, when I got home, Vicky wanted to make sure I was okay. We were having dinner guests but she sent me to bed while she took care of dinner. And she was very nice to me all night long.
And she never once mentioned law suits…. not even buckets of blood.
Which kind of affirms my theory about Vicky. It is this: Vicky talks tough. She likes to look tough and act tough. But deep down, she knows what's right. It was more important to her to know that I was all right than to start exacting vengeance upon someone who never meant to hit me in the first place.
Face it, Vic. You're an old softie.
Your secret is out.
And you know what? That's why I love you.