You’re sitting in the parking lot when suddenly every person on earth and their mothers are backing out at the same exact moment. So, like 13 of the 14 people repark their cars and wait “patiently” for someone to hurry up and freakin-go! already. It’s like a bumper-cars-Austin-Powers-moment.

Well, this seems to happen to me every. single. time. I’m leaving Target. And, yesterday was no exception. The exception was, however, that I did get REAR-ENDED. Goes without saying – It wasn’t my fault. And since this is my blog, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

I was already pulled out of my spot as I watched the Honda Lady reverse right into me. It was all slowwwww-mo like. There was actually enough slow-mo for me to send out two polite WTF?! honks and *almost* move my car out of the way.

Well, long story short… Honda Lady went through the entire 5 Stages of Grief right before my eyes (within a 15 minute time span no less). It was kind of like witnessing Jekyll and Hyde. I could barely get a word out before she lapsed into the next stage. So, I basically stood there with my mouth agape.

Oh, and an aside: To the two insanely pesky charitable boys trying to sell me “coupons” for “school” … please don’t approach me for the 3rd time while I’m pretending I know what the hell I’m doing exchanging insurance information. Throws off my game. Thankyouverymuch.

Back to the 5 Stages of Grief Honda Lady. Here are some of her mixed messages from The Incident:

1) Denial: “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. But it’s ok… your car looks fine. Not a scratch!” (FYI lady… that dull spot on my bumper where I can no longer see my confused reflection… that’s a scratch.)

2) Anger: “It was all ‘those people’ giving me dirty looks! There was this lady next to me trying to make me go because I was partially parked in her spot (wtf??). And there was the other person waiting for my spot getting all impatient. They were giving me so much pressure!” (Pressure? It’s a good thing this woman wasn’t taking the bar exam or something, jeez.)

3) Bargaining: “Our cars look fine. I mean, my car is so banged up already. Actually, we both reversed into each other. It’s perfectly understandable. You didn’t see me either.” (Thank you for your consideration, Honda Lady. My car, however, is not so banged up already. And I wasn’t moving, which technically doesn’t qualify as me reversing.)

4) Depression: “I’m sorry. Really. Sorry!!” (Imagine her voice getting quieter and quieter till it’s a faint unrecognizable whisper.)

5) Acceptance: “I guess we’ll just have to pay our deductibles.” (Um, how about you pay my deductible since you hit me…remember? Sigh.)

So, it turns out when you file a claim with your insurance, they have you record a statement. Suddenly, my ordinary morning became a John Grisham thriller…

Insurance Agent: Please state your name for the record.

Me: Noob … Hey! Get those Cheerios outta your nose… Mommy.

Insurance Agent: Uh…….. Please state the location where the incident occured.

Me: The Target parking (loud shrill screaming) awwww… somebody hit her head. Did you hit your head little cutey?

Insurance Agent: …

Perhaps, not so much a John Grisham novel. Hopefully, these tapes will never be exposed in some sort of embarrassing case. Because, I vaguely recall this happening…

Insurance Agent: Did you get the lady’s home address and telephone number?

Me: I … um… (sweating) well there were these kids asking for donations… and I ate all those Funions right before… Would a Costco membership suffice? Oh! Oh! I got her Albertson’s rewards number.

Insurance Agent: Well, ma’am…

Me: Dude! You’ve just been NOOBED!

Hey, I never said I was Slick Mommy.