November, 2011

Let's Not Meet By Accident
(bumper sticker on repair shop courtesy vehicle)

Well-read people are usually more creative in flinging insults. Not content with dropping F-bombs and calling people rude terms for body parts, you can hear things like "strumpet," "tosspot," "Friday-faced," "death's head on a mop stick" and the like—or a particularly good string, "six-fathered, son of a leprous dog, dry-towner, sandal-wearing, military contractor with delusions of adequacy!"

Ducky didn't fling that one. I wasn't the author, either—or Lily, Ev or even anyone at the store. No, sweet little Grandma Suzy, champion mother-wrangler, had clearly been paying attention to some of our comments because when her car got t-boned at an intersection she came hobbling in to the house snarling some choice comments about the under the influence (cell phone) college kid who didn't even slow down when he blasted through a red light.

Fortunately, he hit the passenger side. Fortunately, Suzy was alone. Fortunately, she drives an old station wagon made of solid Detroit steel. Fortunately, she wasn't badly hurt. Unfortunately, dingdong hit her hard enough to put a couple of hellacious dents in the car—and even tweak the frame a bit. (Totaled his car.) He walked away with minor scratches and bruises. Karma stepped in: his cell phone was shattered. Suzy's insurance company pulled his cell records and showed he was texting someone seconds before the accident so his insurance company was going to have to eat every dime.

And they were pushing hard to cash out her wagon. She fought tooth and nail. Her insurance company was able to show that it was considered a classic car, in mint condition, and she had taken meticulous care for over 45 years. For weeks it had been sitting in a body shop getting repaired and spiffed up and Suzy had been doing the same—considering Bessie was not equipped with airbags, her worst booboo was a fracture in her ankle from when she slammed on the brakes. She hobbled around in a space boot for a number of weeks and was delighted to hear her wagon would be ready the day before she was due to be free of her clump-clump.

I followed her to the rental car agency, and then drove her to Wagons Ho, where she cooed and petted her beloved station wagon and marveled that the new paint job made Bessie look brand new.

"You could take her to a classic car show," I suggested. I gave her a wink. "Who knows, you might meet a guy who's into restoring old cars."

She gave an unladylike snort. "Just what I need, another male in my life with an expensive hobby." That's right, one of her sons collects Star Wars memorabilia—I had gifted her a box of fanzines that thrilled him to his nerdy toes. Good thing he has a job that pays well (very well); his house is jammed to the rafters with stuff.

We caravanned back to the house and found Lily, Ev and Mother playing Scrabble while Charlie studied and Lexi very carefully wrote down scores. "Ah! A fourth!" Ev crowed when I walked in.

"Fat chance. I've got dinner to start. Suzy is right behind, try her."

The door opened and I head Suzy thump-thumping into he house. "Bessie good?" Lily called.

"Bessie is great."

"We're only one round into a new game, come on and play," Ev coaxed.

"Sure. Let me get a drink—"

"We have pink wemonade!" Lexi bounced up and down on her seat and suddenly stopped. "You still gotta cast."

"Have," I corrected automatically, colliding with Suzy's chirp of, "Yep."

"You went to the body shop," Lexi spoke very carefully but in a mildly accusing one.

"I picked up the car. She's parked outside."

Lexi looked baffled. "Why didn't you get your new weg?"

Body shop. Trade in your broken leg. Yeah… makes sense in a three-year-old way. As Suzy explained it wasn't that kind of body shop, I made a note to dig out my Logan's Run DVD later on.