He’s patriotic. I listen to country music (sometimes, whenever my parents are driving us anywhere). He likes to celebrate his birthdays with a barrage of noise and lights. I like fireworks. He likes to wear three basic colors. I’m ok with that.
Once thought to be a match made in Heaven, Mr. Fourth of July and myself no longer seem to be extremely compatible. In fact, I think our rocky relationship officially ended last weekend; right around the time I discovered I might have the pleasure of riding home from Priest in the ever-interesting company of my tow-truck driver.
Somewhat unfortunately for me, the Fourth of July is quickly becoming synonymous with trips to the dentist, listening to the grating sound of chewed ice, and other cringe-inducing experiences. While I, like the majority of my compatriots, delight in singing a heartfelt rendition of the Happy Birthday Song to our great country once a year, occurrences on this fateful night the past two years seem to indicate I might fare far better in altogether boycotting the star-spangled festivities.
Last year, in what looked like a valiant attempt at breaking my very first bone, I fell through a dock after watching fireworks from the middle of the lake. This year I awoke on the fifth with the somewhat disheartening, and yet not altogether surprising, news that my car had decided to attempt a bit of off-road action the night before. Apparently the physical pain and humiliation of last fourth didn’t quite satisfying the rapacious appetite of this our lone summer holiday. Interestingly enough, the weekend prior to the fourth my friends and I (unintentionally) listened to DMB sing “Crash into Me” a total of seven times. Perhaps I should have taken it as a sign of things to come. Only “Crash into that Tree” might have been a more accurate title.
While in all fairness the weekend did produce an impressive collection of noteworthy highlights, ultimately my car sacrificed its all for our jovial celebrations. Upon returning to Spokane, American Way Collision (ah, the irony) estimated the cost of repairing the damage to my car at $3700. The estimated net worth of my car, prior to the accident: $2800.
Sigh.
And so I press on from this, yet another painful ‘growth experience,’ sans a vehicle. But on a brighter note, I have been able to drive a truck for the past week and a half. As a further bonus, my newfound truck experience has been filled with sideways glances and mildly bewildered stares. I’m not sure, but I think it might have something to do with the license plate covers.
But someday I may really be ‘The World’s Greatest Grandma’.