…is a long time.
Eight Years ago today, RR and I decided to go to the mall for ‘one last’ trip before Christmas.
Wait. Before I continue with this little story, let me digress. I think I have mentioned before that his family happens to have a ‘one last’ curse upon them (kind of like my bumper sticker curse but worse since his usually ends up with someone losing an eye, or breaking something, or generally getting hurt). For example, one year his sister decided to go for ‘one last’ skate around the lake before they left for home in Long Island – she fell through the ice. Another year, his brother decided to go for ‘one last’ ride down the road on his dirtbike before they left for home – he fell off and spent the next several hours at the local ER getting some quality time with the ER doc and a wire brush removing the gravel from his back. Yet another year, RR decided to take the snowmobile for ‘one last’ run around the lake – and crashed spectacularly into the boat house and the dock, breaking them and the sled into a million pieces. RR was slightly broken, too. More recently, while we were out on the sleds, the four of us (RR, myself, our friend B and his ex) decided to go for ‘one last’ run. About 10 feet down the trail, the suspension of my sled pretty much exploded. Also, on our way to Dobby’s ‘last’ Winter Concert on Thursday we almost hit a deer.
Yeah, we try to not say that we’re going for ‘one last’ ANYTHING in this family.
However, in 1999 I was new to this lovely curse so I was thinking that it was to be ‘one last’ trip to the mall. I know better now.
We were in the truck. That red pile of metal is what hit us. The guy had bald tires and no business being on the road in December in Massachusetts in that car on those tires ON OUR SIDE OF THE ROAD. *ahem*
Anyway – the BEST part? The first EMT that got to the crash? My ex. Yes, I told him to get the F*** away from me – and he did. ;o)
There were two minor injuries on our side – the guy that was with us hurt his knee and RR hit the center console with his hip when he rolled off the back seat – oh yeah and I had a bloody nose from smacking myself in the face when the airbag went off (I had let go of the steering wheel and tried my best to relax when I knew the guy was going to hit us – kept me from breaking an arm/leg).
The other guy? Didn’t recognize his wife or kids for three days.
The moral of this story? We don’t go for ‘one last’ anything. Ever.
…and definitely not on December 23.