Friday, August 21, 2015
The Daily Chai Fucks Up Veronica
So on the way to get Anna for daycare, I reared-ended a pickup truck. Good times. I'm okay, not injured in anyway except a headache and sore neck. Veroncia, on the other hand, is fucked up. My poor baby, my new car, my dream car is all smashed up. The HILARIOUS thing about this lovely incident is I knew if I got a new car, I would get into an accident within a month. I told people I was actually worried about getting a new car because I would probably smash it up the first chance I got just because it's new and beautiful and shiny and I love it. It's just, like, fate. Not that I believe in that happy horseshit. But how many people do you know have ended up in the same predicament after buying a new car? Why couldn't this have happened when I was driving my crappy 2003 Golf that I didn't give a crap about?
I will tell you why. God is jealous when you love immaterial things. Thou shalt not worship any idol before me. Or something like that. And worship her I do. Oops.
I'm kidding. This was just a crappy, crappy accident that happened and I now have to deal with the consequences. A tiny little part of me kind of feels like it serves me right for loving my car so much because it's just a thing. It means nothing what kind of car you drive. Except...we all love our cars and so many people identify their personalities with the type of car they drive. Shallow people, granted, but it's still true. And I'm pretty shallow. So you know, balls. I was so excited that I was able to buy this car and that I found the exact one that I've dreamed of having for years. Did I ever tell you I bought a model replica kit of a red Beetle when I was a teenager? I still have it somewhere. I have bored people to death for the last six weeks about how much I love my car. I am, quite frankly, completely and totally bummed about this turn of events.
But I keep coming back to this: It's just a thing. It's not my heart or my soul, it's not my child, it's not one of my people. It's a car. It can be fixed. In a few weeks, you will never even know this happened. I'm sure I will have some fun times sorting this shit out, but it'll get done. I'll take care of business because it's what I do. It's what we all have to do when these things happen. Time to put my big girl panties on and do some adulting.
A special thank you to you-know-who-you-are for dropping everything and coming to wait with me while I talked to the cops. You have my undying gratitude for being there for me in my hour of FML, what have I done? And to everyone who wrote back, "First, are you ok? And second, WTF, omg your poor baby," I know you get me and I love you too.
And yes, one of the things I thought as I waited for the cops to show was, at least I have something to write about tonight.