I just got back from a weekend in Independence, Missouri. I was there with my dad and uncle attending the conference where they presented their research findings that I was helping them with. Overall the weekend was fun, I met a lot of very nice people, and learned some interesting things. Plus it was cool to hang out with my dad and uncle for a few days.
We headed straight for the Kansas City airport to pick up my uncle and that’s when I noticed something on my shirt. See, last week I went clothes shopping. I know, I know very unusual for me but I’ve been feeling a sort of physical funk I guess. Anyway, I ended up buying a couple of shirts. One is white and one is black but otherwise totally identical and both are nicer, more dressy type shirts. I knew I was going to need to dress up at least two of the days so I brought both along, having worn the white shirt once and never having worn the black one.
Blah, blah, ok. I get in the back seat where my clothes are hanging and notice that the store security tag is still on my black shirt. Lovely. Of course I try ripping it off but if you were capable of doing that the security tag would be pointless. All I have to do is keep my white shirt clean and just hope it won’t look too bad after a couple of days of wearing it. Naturally about an hour after I put on the shirt I spilt barbeque sauce right down the front. Honestly, I rarely ever spill my food on my clothes. I leave that to Pammy Girl. But of course I was wearing the white one with no other shirt to change into. Grrr. This kind of irony happens to me so much it’s almost laughable. Almost. Ok, well it is. When I got back to my room I was able to use the handsoap to wash my shirt so it looked as good as new. No harm, no foul.
But the real event happened Friday afternoon back in Arkansas. My brother was involved in a car accident while driving my car. He’s fine, just a little sore, and everyone else involved was fine. Some car, for reasons unknown to my brother, drove off into the median which caused other drivers to slam on their brakes and swerve into the other lane. When all was said and done, my brother was at the tail end of a four car pile up. And here’s the kicker, he was driving my car because last week someone backed into his while he was parked at Office Depot and then they drove away. So I had told him that he could use mine to transport his equipment to Little Rock for his concert that was on Friday night.
I am so grateful that he’s ok, that everyone in the accident is ok, and that though things could have been so much worse, they weren’t. As it happens, just this week I paid off my car and had received my title. I don’t know if my car is fixable or not. I don’t know if my insurance will say it’s totaled or not. I don’t know if I’ll end up having to buy another car, take out another loan to pay for that car, or even if I’ll ever get a job to pay back on the loan I may have to take out. But I do know that my car is easily twice as big as his. And I do know that the frame in the front of my car is a lot stronger than on his. And while I don’t know exactly what might have happend had he been driving his car, I do know it could have ended very badly. And knowing this makes me so glad he was in mine. And besides, at least I can say I was a car owner for a week.