The Car

I've discovered just how much fun it can be to shock my husband, Mr. Handsome. Like on Sunday morning, before his first coffee, when I told him I'd been in a car accident, but I said it in such a way that no one in the entire universe could be sure, or even partially sure, if I was playing a joke or being absolutely serious. I guess you could say I said it with a little lilt to my voice, and a little smirk on my lips. Life's too short.

At first, he was sure I was just playing a game, as I often do (ask anyone who knows me at all -- I'm a lot of fun!). He said, "Ha ha, very funny," as he grimaced in my general direction. But there was an ever-so-slight tone of, "Jeez, do you really mean it, maybe??? And that would just be great, because we just spent $1,500 on the car getting bodywork done after your last accident."

So, I cut to the chase and told him I was absolutely serious. He looked at me again, slitty-eyed, and said, "What happened?", fully expecting me to be at fault.

Well, I'm here to say that I WASN'T AT FAULT! SO THERE!!!! I may be a woman, and I may be blonde, but it wasn't me!!!!! I was on my way home from the east end of the city after showing a house to a client (I'm a Realtor in my other life), and I was behind a couple of cars at a red light on a street with a slight, but definite, incline. So, being the great driver that I am, I kept my distance from the Land Rover in front of me, because I drive a standard, and I know all about rolling and mistaking the clutch for the brake and all that stuff, not that I've ever done that, but I know plenty of people who have, including my father when I was 6 years old, and I still haven't recovered from that accident!

Well, as it happened, the Land Rover in front of me started to roll backwards, and quite rapidly. I then started rolling back as well in a solid attempt to avoid colliding with this monster truck. I wasn't fast enough. He smashed me, jumped out of his huge mother of a vehicle, and said, "I am sorry! I don't know what happened. You know, I was just having a panic moment."

Panic moment? What is that? Panicking about what?? About possibly backing into a car behind you, maybe??

We took a quick look at the damage (at the time, all we saw was a ding in the front licence plate area), and he was ready to call it a day and get back into his sweet Land Rover and drive off into the sunset. I stopped him, thank the lord, and said, in my most respectful and polite way, that "I would rather get your information, just in case, if you don't mind."

Surprisingly, and happily, he was agreeable to that suggestion. Otherwise, I guess I wouldn't have got it. Or else the police would have had to get involved, and that's the last thing anyone wants. Especially me, who has a great aversion to all things police (except when I see one in uniform, and then I just want to jump him).

We exchanged information, and I went home and did not speak for the rest of the evening, going through the scenario again and again of telling my dear sweet husband. So I didn't tell him until Sunday morning, like I said, partially because I am a wuss, partially because he was working very very late at the office, and I didn't see him until Sunday morning, and partially because I honestly did not want to fluster him with something so menial as a small tiny accident when he had this huge project to do and he was waaaay behind schedule and this was the last thing he needed to hear from me.

After telling slitty-eyed Mr. Handsome this story, we went out to check the car. And he said, "There seems to be a bit more damage to the front end than the tiny ding you're talking about. Take a look, Mary." So, being the obedient little wife that I am, I did. Of course, he was right. There was a line of scratches above the plate, with some paint chips knocked off in various places, and black streaks all along. I am pretty darn sure they weren't there before the incident. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach because I instantly felt I had failed yet again. I thought I had done everything I had to do by getting his information, insurance company and policy number, etc., but I knew there would be something else, and I was right. Mr. Handsome said we probably had no way of dealing with this now because who could prove what, right? Unless, of course, I phone the Land Rover owner (nice guy, actually, except for the fact that he owns a mother of a truck that backs into innocent people just trying to make a living) and see if we could meet and take a closer look at my car and verify that, yes, the Land Rover did this to my car and the owner needed to do something about it.

Of course, then Mr. Handsome went off to the office again for the entire day and left me, saying, "Don't forget to call the owner of the Land Rover and talk to him."

With my lower intestines up in my throat, I called the guy, sitting there on the couch with a piece of paper in my lap, reading glasses perched on my not-so-elegant nose, with the entire dialogue written out so I didn't get all flustered and end up saying nothing except maybe apologize for calling him on a Sunday, and did he want tickets to the next Sens game because I was obviously causing so much trouble having been behind him in my car when we all know I should have gone in the other direction in the first place.

The Land Rover owner answered the phone on the fifth ring, just when I thought I was safe and could just leave a brief message. And you know what? He was amazing about it all. So nice, so polite, so agreeable!!! We are meeting him this week to work everything out.

Moral of this story: Don't assume the worst in any situation. And don't sit behind Land Rovers at red lights, especially when you're on an incline and you've just had $1,500 in bodywork done to your car. And keep on trying to shock your spouse, if only because it's a lot of fun.


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