That'll Buff Out

See this? This is what happens when you go to church.

I was on my way out of the parking lot of Pocket Park and Old Dear and I collided. This is what happened to my car.

And I called the cops. Meanwhile, Old Dear is shrieking that it's my fault (and as it turns out, it was), telling me she has to get to church (I know because I see her and her Old Dear Hubby toddle into church every Sunday at 7 a.m.), and that she's leaving. I especially love Old Dear Hubby because he's bent over his stick and they kiss when it's time to wish each other peace.

But let me tell you, Old Dear has instantly transformed into Hell On Wheels. "You came out of nowhere! It's your fault! I didn't do anything wrong! You did this!"

She was yakketing on an on. And meanwhile, not one but two patrol cars show up to quiet the riot between an 80 year old bat and a 55 year old bat. She's mean. But I could take her.

The cop is a skinny young guy who is kind enough not to laugh. He gets Old Dear into her car and tells me that in fact, it is my fault. So there I am, staring at my battered car. And I'm instantly grateful I don't have to show him any paperwork because I kept meaning to send away for an extra copy of my insurance card, but haven't done it yet.

The last couple of days have been a little harder than usual. Yesterday, I tried to sleep it away and woke up, screaming with a cramp in my leg. I'm glad it didn't happen earlier when I fell asleep at Barnes & Noble.

How ever you figure out when a material goes from bending to breaking, someone needs to do that equation on me. Because I think I'm just about there.

I told the cop, "The last couple of years have been tough, you know." And he said, "My wife just got laid off while she's on maternity leave." Emma left a Moaning Myrtle Message on my phone last night.

I don't know what comes next. I'm not so sure I've got the cojones for it.