monday!

I woke up sick. I'm blaming it on last night's dinner...tasted just fine but evidently was not fine. And because I have no cartiledge left in my knees - another story - changes in weather pressure bring not only rain but also this intense deep dull pain. And because I listened to too much Jimi Hendrix as a child, I practically have a panic attack when I get sick. So I'm curled up on the bathroom floor, alternatively retching and whimpering in pain and trying not to panic while kicking myself for not having anything but condiments in the house - literally, I have dog food, vinegar, Bragg's, and nothing else. Knock knock knock on the door. I figured it must be important because no one knocks on your front door at 6am unless something is seriously amiss. Fabulous.

It was my downstairs tenant. Apparently the two units are sound-proofed from each other except when one alternates retching and whimpering directly on top of the vent. He handed over a box of Saltines and asked if there would be any pitter-pattering; I told him that would be one heck of an immaculate conception and, in any case, that the very good Lord put a nice, Saltine-possessing guy below the vent right when I was on top of it was miracle enough.

With Saltines and a gallon of Pepto in my belly, I made my way to the car for some errands. Suddenly, I didn't feel so well...

Late last night, I popped over a friend's house for ten minutes. As I was backing up, I (thought) I hit an iced-over snowbank. I panicked, prayed that there was no damage and there was not - the bumper was perfect. It was dark, but I ran my hand over and felt nothing. There was a car parked several yards away from the snowback, and I did give it a thorough once-over just to reassure myself that I hit snow, not car. Then this morning, I noticed a dent on the rear side of the car, above the tire. Great. Not that bad, but definitely a few hundred smackaroos. Upon closer inspection, I saw a smear of mustard-colored paint. The same mustard color of Friend's neighbor's car which is usually parked on the street, to the the rear of where I typically park when I visit.

I couldn't tell if the thudding in my chest cavity was a heart attack or the sound of police footsteps on my stairs, coming to arrest me for a hit-and-run. And yank away my law license as the Board takes a rather dim view of law-breaking lawyers.

Frantic, I called Friend and poured out phrases like "be over in 10" and "I have to file a police report" and "I can't believe I hit your neighbor." She told me to calm down and informed me that she couldn't see any damage to his car and to hold off doing anything. Driving up, I saw that his car was a very old Pontiac - the sort of tank you couldn't damage if you tried. I began to relax a little, then saw the handicap placard, the PBA sticker, the "I'm a Vietnam vet" sticker. Crickey. I hit a disabled veteran who is a fan of the police.

I went over with Friend and a bottle of wine, prepared for the worst.

The man practically apologized for owning a car. We looked at his damage - a very tiny, shallow dent - and he said that if I hadn't knocked on his door, he would have assumed someone nicked him in a parking lot if he noticed it at all. All three of us were confused as to how, exactly, I managed to hit his car given the location of the dents, and the nice man actually said it was physically impossible for it to have been me until I pointed out that I haven't been around any other mustard-yellow vehicles. In any case, he restores cars as a hobby and told me it would be no more than $50 in a special vintage paint and sealant...no labor, because he would take care of it himself. He again apologized profusely for basically being a person with a car, asked me for a stack of business cards because he wanted to help out an unemployed lawyer, apologized for not having a driveway in which to park his car, gave me the names of several quality mechanics to mend my car and instructed me to call him if the quotes seemed too high. And then said he was really sorry that his car needed a special vintage paint but way sorrier than my car clearly bore the brunt of the damage.

We got to talking. We once both belonged to the same gun range. Both can trace our roots to pre-Revolutionary War America. We both garden. One of us has two greenhouses in his backyard and excess tomatoes, the other wishes she did and just loves homegrown tomatoes. Through his interest in cars, he knew of my sister's Godfather who lives 400 miles away. Through my interest in suing people, I knew of his wife who does free-lance court reporting. He told me where to buy cheap ammunition. I told him how to have a home office without asking for an audit. I just happened to have an iTunes gift card in my wallet, recently won at my eye doctor's office, but don't own an iPod. His wife's car just happened to get broken into last month and the iPod stolen. And so on.

We are all still unsure that I actually hit his car. I have a rear-view camera and didn't see the car, two engineers and a lawyer well-versed in accident reconstruction couldn't match up the locations of the damage, and after I heard the crunch I was several yards from his car and two inches from a crunchy snowbank.

But you know what? We're all rather pleased that mustard smear found its way to my bumper. Friend - new in town - got to know her neighbor and I think I have a new - if unlikely - friend.