A lady actually. With my car.
On my way to work yesterday, I oh so gently tapped the rear bumper of a beautiful navy Mercedes convertible. The woman was lovely and could not have been nicer about the whole thing. The damage was minimal and nothing that can’t easily just be buffed out (no dents or cracks) but it’s still a really crummy way to start the morning.
As I stared into the imprint of my license plate in her automotive ass, I was already rehearsing the call to my husband about how I would spin this so I could offset the blow with something positive. Maybe it could go something like this,
“Guess what honey! I saved us $27 a month and got free HBO for 90 days by switching us to Verizon… (oh and BTW I sort of hit a car on my way to work) So, what free movie do you want to watch tonight?”
Free Movie channels always seem to make him happy. Or how about,
“I just found that $100 gift card you lost to Home Depot. (Oh and BTW I sort of hit a car on my way to work) So, wanna go tool shopping tonight?
New tools always seem to make him happy. But that version would require a trip to Home Depot and $100 bucks on a new gift card.
There is yet another direction the conversation could go, and that too would make him happy, but I’ll refrain from detailing it here since my mom is probably reading this. Seriously mom. Don’t even ask me about it later. We’ll both just get uncomfortable.
So when the woman offered to keep it “off the books” to spare my insurance, I of course eagerly nodded and promised to send payment privately. I even emailed her right away and gave her my cell and work numbers so that she would be sure to contact me directly and not go through my insurance. And that was when the thought occurred to me.
I could just not tell him.
Clearly this is one way to find out if he actually reads my blog or just tells me he does to shut me up at night. Because as I write this I still haven’t told him. Who knew a little fender bender could feel so liberating?
The thing is, he’s not even really the yell-y type and he would never do anything unreasonable. It would more likely be used as a piece of ammunition he’ll leverage strategically like a covert operation that I never saw coming. Like when I start to nag him this winter about how much he spends at Patriots games. Out will come, “Well what I spend on football games is still less that what you cost us in insurance premiums.” Game. Set. Match.
So, if he reads this he’ll obviously find out. But if he doesn’t… is it terribly wrong that I keep this intsy weensy teeny tiny little secret?