A while back, while sitting at a red light after work, I’m rear ended. Not hard, just enough to jar me and my car. Daggum it. The light turns green and I pull over at Wendy’s, because I want chili, and now I need to see if my car sustained any noticeable damage. I was curious to see if the person who hit me would pull over too. He did. We get out of our respective vehicles, he takes one look at me, calls his dog to join us, and he kisses me long and hard. God it felt good.
Not really.
He did rear end me and we did pull over at Wendy’s. He's apologizing, I'm looking at my rear end. Perhaps there's a dent or a scratch under all the dirt, but nothing worth reporting to insurance. I ask him if he's new in town. No, I've lived here 30 years. Well, I start slowing down long before I need to stop, considering the snow, ice and all. I told him I would've moved up a bit if I’d known he was going to hit me. He apologizes some more. I apologize too, what the freak for? Sorry you hit me? I always apologize for crap. (Yeah, I was tired and out of five and ten dollar words. It's crap.)
We exchange names and pleasantries, shake hands, he shoves me up against his car, kisses me again, and we part ways. I clear my head and order chili and a salad.
(This story was slightly embellished.)
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