I'm Not Bad Driver, I Just Hit Stuff

Monday morning started out like any other. I was thrown into the chaos of the Beltway at 7AM that was a mess of stop and go traffic. I was cruising along just fine when the lady in front of me slammed on her brakes, causing me to slam on mine. But guess what? I didn't get stopped quite in time causing me to catch her right in the bumper. 


I got out of my car dreading what I was about to see. Lucky for me, and the lady in front of me, damage was minimal. A tiny scratch on my front bumper, that's really only noticeable to me. And her car? I took some of the paint off around the license plate. No dents. No serious damage. She took my info, but I haven't heard from my insurance company yet. I'm hoping she decided it wasn't worth it to file a claim.


But my biggest fear was telling hubs. Because I've had a track record with hitting things. Mostly inanimate objects.


1. Age 16, the same week I got my license, I backed into a fellow team mate's car leaving field hockey practice. My dad was none too pleased with my performance. 
2. Age 18, I backed into a Lincoln Town Car in the parking lot of the Bon Ton. Luckily not enough to damage either car. 
3. Age 24, I hit a the ticket booth at a parking garage. With the ticket lady still in it. Yep, she was a little shocked. No one was injured. My car had a scratch on the bumper, no dents. The only thing bruised was my ego.
4. Age 25, I pulled out in front of a Jaguar on the way to my sister's college graduation. To my defense, he was booking it down the road and I didn't realize how fast he was coming. That was my biggest accident. My front bumper came right off in the middle of the road. Again, no one was hurt, thank goodness. 
5. Age 27, I took a turn too wide in the Giant parking lot and sideswiped a huge truck. Injuring the bumper on my 2 month old car, but again, no damage to the other car.


Now this one. You can imagine why I'd be a little reluctant to tell hubs. I've got a bit of a track record. 


I crafted an email to him describing the incident, confirming the fact that it was no big deal. One of those things you can't prevent. I sent it and hoped for the best. He emailed me back:


Hubs: Nice work, Ricky Bobby.
Me: That implies that I was speeding, which I was not.
Hubs: Heather Accidents: 3 (<---Clearly he wasn't counting correctly)
          Me Accidents: 0
Me: This was not an accident, it was an "incident."
Hubs: Semantics.
Me: The Beltway is a dangerous place.
Hubs: With drivers like you, it sure is.


Touche.