Today was one of those days. One of those days you don't want to remember when you're gumming jello in the assisted living center. My oldest anklebiter's elementary school is getting out early all week- for parent teacher conferences. So when I showed up for pickup, there was a ton of parents that aren't normally there at that hour. The street was clogged, cars were lining up one after another.
My minivan had been parked against the curb for fifteen minutes. 1-5. As I toted my kids back to the car, there was a woman standing in front of it, looking sheepish.
"Is this your car?" she asked, nervously.
I nodded my head and noticed my left bumper was hanging on by a thread.
She quickly explained that she had run into my car, and was in the process of writing me a note. As I listened to her explain, I found myself consoling her. Patting her on the arm, assuring her that no one was hurt, it could have been worse, yadda yadda yadda. She told me how her husband was going to kill her, how she had never hit anyone before how, OMG! I can't believe this has happened!
I took her info, got the kids in the car, and tried to make my way out of the parking spot. Except the woman that had hit me penned me in. And she was so flustered, she had to leave her car running and jump out to tell the car in front of her the whole damn story. Which left me boxed in. For ten minutes. Ten, very long minutes.
When I got home, I opened the garage door and discovered we have another dead varmint rotting away in our walls.
Yeah, I really don't want to remember this day.