Ok, I’m ready to talk about it.

If you would have asked me (or teased me) a week and a half ago about it, I probably would have given you the death stare or smacked you a good one.

Yes, dear blog readers… I was in a car accident.

Now, before you get all worried on me… I’m fine. The car’s fine. The other lady was fine.

See – I was on my way to work. In that “I’m on my way to work” fog. Road construction and the aforementioned mental state aren’t such a good mix… and I (sorry to say) bumped into the back of someone else’s car.

Once both cars had come to a complete stop, I took a breath and pealed my fingers off of the steering wheel. I was first relieved to be alive. Second, happy that the other car wasn’t a Lexus… and (third) that she was not an angry biker chick with tattoos, dreads, weapons and piercings. She was a nice little old lady who didn’t seam to have suffered any physical harm from the little nudge from my car to hers. (Thankfully. It is FAR too easy to throw someone’s back out of whack… and that is costly, buddy)

The cops came shortly after. I was ashamed to admit that I didn’t know how to turn on the hazard lights on my car.  I got out, the cop got in, and he figured out where they were. In my defense… they’re hidden. It took him like 10 seconds to find them. (AND, if you’re wondering, I now know where they are and how to activate them).

It was obviously my fault. Drat. Perfect driving record down the drain.  *sigh* It’s ok. I’m over it.

Once they had given the cars a once-over, the cops went back to their car to write up their report.  I heard the rookie cop ask the older cop “hey, is this when we check for warrents?”

The older cop looked at him and mockingly replied “have you SEEN the drivers? I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

I don’t know. A little old lady and a rather fashionably-dressed receptionist seem quite the crime type. Maybe they should have checked, just to be safe.   In any case, I ended up at work 45 minutes late. I work at a great place where people care about each other… that’s why I had to explain to 35 people one-by-one how I’m a bad driver who rear-ended a sweet old lady. I think their perception of me is forever jaded.

Over my lunch break, I called my insurance company to make the claim. I admit, even though it was my fault… I still felt pretty grown up reporting it all by myself.  Next time you see me, you should give me a pat on the back for being so responsible.

Now, a week and a half later, the insurance claim has been closed and my car (thanks to Dad’s artistic efforts with a crowbar) is almost back to normal. I don’t cringe anymore when people use words like “break”, “crash” or “dent”… and, if you were to call me “Crash” I would only ignore you… instead of getting upset.

Time heals wounds….  so do bandaids.