Have you ever been sitting at a red light, comfortably minding your own business, having funny chatter with your three year old daughter in the back seat when BAM someone smacks into the back of your car? So that happened to me this week. It’s the third time I’ve been rear ended in 6 months. Cue rear end jokes.
I was driving home from the gym talking with (10) my sweet little girl who gives the best hugs in the whole world and makes me laugh almost as much as (9) Joel McHale when some lady smashed into my car. Hard. Leaving me with a scratched bumper and an annoyingly sore back. You should see her car though.
Dealing with the insurance company has proved to be quite an ordeal. I’ve spent hours of my life on the phone with different people reporting the damage, giving my recorded statement (in which, he asked if there was anything in my car distracting me from my driving, and I replied “the only thing distracting me was the red light at which I was legally stopped minding my own business when someone who was distracted slammed into me.”), and then trying to schedule a doctors visit. Apparently, doctors do not so much care for seeing people after car accidents because there’s this little thing called “money,” and they want it, but car insurance companies don’t care to freely give it, so Monday I got hit by a car, and Saturday I’m still not scheduled to be seen by anyone. Maybe I need to call The Texas Hammer or something, but all I want is to be able to go to the gym and take my favorite (8) cardio core class, which I’ve attended three times a week for over a year now, and I’m certain is the reason why my injury is not so severe, especially considering that just last week I fell down the stairs really hard and still managed to make it to the gym three times without buckling over in pain. I’m sure everything will work out, but good grief. Could they not make it a little easier for the….victim?
My week started off bad, but then 7) my dear sweet mother-in-law who is one of my absolute favorite people in the entire world and the most shiny sparkly beautiful woman I know called me on Thursday and asked if she could come and (6) pick up my kids from my house on Friday to (5) spend the entire weekend at her house with her and my (4) father-in-law. We learned this week that she has stage 4 cancer and will start aggressive chemotherapy treatments this month, so she wanted a weekend alone with my children before she gets sick.
Cancer. Stage 4. Chemo. Cue explicit horrible words.
We strapped our kids into my father-in-law’s SUV, and as I kissed my little boy goodbye and (3) his smile spread across his rosy cheeks, I squeezed him a little bit harder and whispered in his ear, “Have so much fun, sweet boy,” because what he doesn’t know and can’t possibly fathom but lingers in the back of my mind is that his grandmother who adores him and has picked him up on so many Fridays might never be able to again.
But then she might. Light thoughts replace dark thoughts, which offers (2) hope.
My husband and I watched them drive away, walked into our house holding hands, and then realized we had the entire house to ourselves for the entire weekend. I jumped in the shower and got ready so that we could go to happy hour (something we never get to enjoy since having kids). We decided to go to this cute little village that offers both shopping (blek) and lots of dining and drinking. In another attempt to woo my husband, I chose an outfit that could only be accessorized by my favorite chocolate colored suede knee high boots. He whistled when I walked in the room. Score! Only, when I started walking around the house, grabbing my jacket and my purse, the four inch heels shot pain straight to that annoying spot in my back that’s been there since Monday. I sunk on the couch and started to pout because once a girl chooses her outfit, having to choose another one just sucks all of the air right out of her, and he whistled, so there’s that. Husband disappeared (which I could only assume was an effort to avoid anything that is me when I’m trying to figure out what to wear) but reappeared in the room holding my new favorite and very comfortable flats.
“Just wear these,” he said and flashed me my favorite look in the entire world, the one that only he can do with just half of his lips smiling. Of course, I whined about wanting to look nice and always wearing flats and wanting him to notice me, etc. But in end, he won. I wore flats, took some Advil before we left, and drank some gin, which all helped to numb the pain, and we had a wonderful night….(1) just the two of us.