Yesterday I came ‘this close’ to being the victim of vehicular manslaughter and NO IT WASN’T because I darted in front of an 18-wheeler without looking like the last time so you can stop rolling your eyes!! Frig. I’m lucky to be alive, even though it feels like you don’t take me seriously at times. Look, if you feel horrible (as you should) about doubting me, you can contribute to my convalescence. To do so, simply click on the fake legitimate link at the end of this story and donate to Go Fund Me. I’ve been to hell and back and your support makes the struggle worthwhile. Blessings to you and your family for giving your last fifty generously.
Here’s my gory recount of what happened yesterday. Reader discretion is advised! Here goes…I noticed after a large breakfast of bacon and eggs (and waffles) that my muffin top was spilling over my shorts the rain had dissipated after a dreary weekend and I figured it was a good time for a vigorous(ish) bike ride. I donned my skin-tight sweats biking outfit and set out to beat my personal best of 10 km in 60 minutes. (Bite me). I had just emerged from the totally flat gruelling 5 km wooded trail and stopped briefly to vomit catch my breath before venturing onto the city streets to finish the remaining 5 km. I was totally killin’ myself it.
I approached a small street at lightning speed (obviously) but when I noticed a blue car coming down the street– which had a STOP SIGN AT THE END OF IT… WHICH MEANS TO STOP!!!!! — I slowed down. The homicidal sociopath who was hell-bent on snuffing me out driver appeared to slow down, WHICH, LAST TIME I CHECKED, ISN’T THE SAME THING AS STOPPING (!!!), and I thought she saw me. Due to my misplaced faith in humanity uber-focused athletic mindset, I blocked out any potential harm and crossed the street. First mistake. (Second mistake was being caught on camera without makeup, obviously).
This next part gets pretty graphic so I’ll never forgive you if you can’t get through it. (Takes deep breath). I felt the car’s metal (Are cars made of metal these days? Not sure. Whatevs. I felt something.) brush against me. Down, down I went. Everything happened in slow motion and before landing ankle-first on the hot asphalt while humming, Don’t Fear the Reaper, I had lots of time to entertain some pretty gruesome thoughts:
So help me God, if I make it out alive, someone will pay for this!!
As if my hair didn’t look bad enough before. Now THIS!! ARGH!!
Please God, let the damage be enough to keep me out of the kitchen forever a month but not enough to disfigure this already disfigured face.
Before I could yell, “Murderer! Murderer!”, I was on the ground with my bike on top of me. Thank GOD the pretend paparazzi wasn’t hounding me street was quiet and empty, because I look super ugly when I’m bleeding out on the pavement, while begging for an emergency transfusion. Ooooh. You’re just sooo tough. Well not EVERYONE wants to bleed to death while waiting for the ambulance that never came. I don’t need your approval for the way I handled things, thank you very much. Back to my near-death experience: I saw the
dreaded bright lights driver approach me with wide eyes and her hand over her mouth. She screamed, “OMG, are you Miss Nackawic 1981 okay???” I was all like, “What do YOU think? Would YOU be okay if you had to give back the crown were mowed down by a vehicle on purpose??” Then I looked down and saw that I was bleeding in TWO places. O.M.G.
What do you MEAN you can’t see it? Are you blind? Gawd.
Naturally I lost my mind. Blood loss does crazy things to a person. I started screaming, “Tell my family I won’t be able to cook for at least a month love them! I was weak and slurring my words. Obviously, I feared another brain injury. I was confused and in my stupor, I automatically signed autographs for the driver and her boyfriend who didn’t even seem to know where Nackawic was much less who reigned over the town for 365 days, during which time I was under such scrutiny I felt like I was living in a fishbowl!! went into maternal mode and lectured the young woman on the importance of STOPPING WHEN YOU SEE A STOP SIGN and that ROLLING STOPS AREN’T STOPS and that she RUINED MY ANKLE AND MY HAIR WITH HER NEGLIGENCE!! She swore she had learned her lesson and that my hair still looked super fab so I decided not to sue her because of the second thing she said.
I’m very not proud to say I left a dent on the side of her car. Na! Na! Na! Poo! Poo! It totally did didn’t make me feel one bit better to know the driver suffered a bit too. I told a really hilarious joke about making an impact on them! Ha ha!! Get it?? Oh how we laughed!! Wait. I think it was just me who laughed, but I’m pretty sure it was from the brain injury I sustained when I GOT HIT BY A CAR. (I used All Caps because I sensed you were forgetting the whole point of this story which is I GOT HIT BY A CAR YESTERDAY AND I LIVED TO TELL ABOUT IT! Don’t forget, k?)
I somehow managed to stanch the bleeding and bravely biked all the way home. Once through the door, I immediately called my husband to tell him how lucky I am to not have to cook for a month be alive! He couldn’t chat for very long because he was in a meeting but I’m almost certain he was thrilled to hear I was alive. I could tell because at the end of the conversation he said, “Who IS this?”
I’m on Day 2 of recovery and it’s going better than expected. The pretend doctor told me I was a hypochondriac very brave woman and though I fought him tooth and nail to continue my regular duties, he said I MUST stay off it lest I compromise the healing process. I just can’t risk it, you guys.
Which is why this is happening:
Here’s me looking at the clock wishing like hell I could prepare something- anything!!- for my menfolk for supper! What a total drag, right? Frig.
Uh oh. Almost supper time…crud. Kinda hard to cook with this happenin’:
So the obvious moral of this story is to be ever vigilant, always wear makeup a helmet and for the luvofgod, don’t trust drivers to know your back story look both ways! You do not- I repeat- you do not want to end up like me on the couch watching TV at supper time. No sir. Oh! Before I forget, click HERE to help us recoup our losses for such things as restaurant vouchers, highlights (my hair was a total disaster after lying on the pavement in that hot sun for all of two minutes that time) and court fees for my so- called ‘court-ordered mental assessment’. Pffft. Don’t care. I’m on the couch not cooking. Who’s the crazy one now, hmmm? Thought so.