I’m blogging from the comfort of my kitchen. I have Saturday Night Live on right now, and am actually enjoying it.  I remember when it first premiered back in, well, let’s not go there.  But, I am trying to wrap my head around an incident that happened to me about three weeks ago.  It must have some meaning. 

Let me explain.  I’d been researching my next car for months.  You see, my practical and reliable Chevy (which had proved itself) was going to my oldest daughter.  So, I now had the fun of choosing another car.  After months of internet searching, visiting car dealerships around the area, test driving a bunch, I came to own an Audi Cabriolet convertible, dark blue, comfortably-aged, and well cared for.  It earned good reports from my mechanic, and I negotiated an excellent price.  In mid-February, it became mine. 

Two weeks later, on a rain-slicked road in Cornwall, it was totalled.

After the sound of rolling springs and flying car parts quieted down, I stood, dazed, and counted my blessings.  Neither driver was injured, but the right side of the car was bashed in.  As I wondered if it was a goner, the tow truck driver came up to it and gasped.   “Had you even had the top down,” he asked.  “One day,” I replied.  “Just one afternoon.”   The other car hardly suffered. 

Within the next week, I’d returned to my dealer, found a replacement, and picked it up a few days later.  I didn’t spend weeks searching, I didn’t have that moment when everything I was looking for came together in one “perfect” car.  What I ended up getting doesn’t matter, it’s a good car.  It will do what it’s supposed to do.  And all I really come back to is, “both drivers walked away.”

TTYL, mj

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