Also, I am cursed.
I have personally maimed, or been present at the maiming of, three of my family's four cars within the space of a single week. A time line follows:
Tuesday, January 21st, 4:30 AM: My car is attacked by a pair of Dire Raccoons on the highway on the road home from work. Luckily, I am far too canny to fall for their tricksy ways and their sacrifice of one of their own netted them only my front bumper and my radiator. Lacey Collision claims that I will have my car back before the next Presidential Administration. Maybe.
Saturday, January 26th, 3:15 PM: I am so looking forward to my weekend of mangoes and 19 year-olds that the Gods frown on my happiness and smite my borrowed vehicle. Smoke begins to pour from the hood of the wounded beast as I travel North on I-5. Providentially, there is a rest stop in sight! I pull the stricken vehicle into a parking space and lift the hood to find the culprit. The radiator. Coincidence? Who knows? Hypotheses are advanced by those with greater knowledge of mechanics than I, pointing to the thermostat as the likely culprit, suspiciously absolving the Gods of all responsibility. I soldier on and am transported to the festivities in Issaquah.
Monday, January 28th, 3:30 PM: My sister journeys to that bohemian hot bed of sex, angst and political activism known as the U-District, where I have spent the previous evening in a hotly contested game of Ys, followed by reading late into the night and several hours of sleep on a compatriot's couch. My sister, expresses a desire to eat at the California Pizza Kitchen, I say, "Nay! It would surely be the basest of follies to eat pizza at such an establishment when we are mere blocks away from the glory that is Atlantic Street Pizza!" My sister is so overcome with shame that she momentarily forgets that the avenue she is traveling is designated for traffic in but a single direction. She hastily attempts to rectify her error by turning around, failing to check fro traffic to her left. Again I am smited! This time the curse comes in the form of a Golden Pilot. Fortunately, the damage is limited to the bodies of both vehicles and we are able to continue on our way.
The week is up in just over eight hours. My family owns one undamaged vehicle. I fear that I must lock myself away for the remainder of the blighted week, for the safety of others.
Perhaps I'll contact you all once the time has expired.
Tuesday, January 21st, 4:30 AM: My car is attacked by a pair of Dire Raccoons on the highway on the road home from work. Luckily, I am far too canny to fall for their tricksy ways and their sacrifice of one of their own netted them only my front bumper and my radiator. Lacey Collision claims that I will have my car back before the next Presidential Administration. Maybe.
Saturday, January 26th, 3:15 PM: I am so looking forward to my weekend of mangoes and 19 year-olds that the Gods frown on my happiness and smite my borrowed vehicle. Smoke begins to pour from the hood of the wounded beast as I travel North on I-5. Providentially, there is a rest stop in sight! I pull the stricken vehicle into a parking space and lift the hood to find the culprit. The radiator. Coincidence? Who knows? Hypotheses are advanced by those with greater knowledge of mechanics than I, pointing to the thermostat as the likely culprit, suspiciously absolving the Gods of all responsibility. I soldier on and am transported to the festivities in Issaquah.
Monday, January 28th, 3:30 PM: My sister journeys to that bohemian hot bed of sex, angst and political activism known as the U-District, where I have spent the previous evening in a hotly contested game of Ys, followed by reading late into the night and several hours of sleep on a compatriot's couch. My sister, expresses a desire to eat at the California Pizza Kitchen, I say, "Nay! It would surely be the basest of follies to eat pizza at such an establishment when we are mere blocks away from the glory that is Atlantic Street Pizza!" My sister is so overcome with shame that she momentarily forgets that the avenue she is traveling is designated for traffic in but a single direction. She hastily attempts to rectify her error by turning around, failing to check fro traffic to her left. Again I am smited! This time the curse comes in the form of a Golden Pilot. Fortunately, the damage is limited to the bodies of both vehicles and we are able to continue on our way.
The week is up in just over eight hours. My family owns one undamaged vehicle. I fear that I must lock myself away for the remainder of the blighted week, for the safety of others.
Perhaps I'll contact you all once the time has expired.