Fender Bender

Yesterday I was hobbling around the kitchen--it's a light hobble, but a hobble none-the-less--when the phone rang. As I am the kind of person who does not like talking on the phone and will not answer if it's an unrecognizable number, I checked the Caller ID.

Carlos.

Okay. I guess I can answer.

I kid. I press the button Hello?

Nothing.

Hello?

Nothing. I turn it off and wonder if it is Carlos hitting the wrong button, or saying the wrong word. He has that Voice Activation jiggy-mah-giggy--his word--on his phone and I wondered if maybe when he'd said Home the phone thought he said Homo and began fire-dialing around the globe. I do not want to see that phone bill.

So I call him back and it just rings and rings and goes to Voicemail. As I like to panic, because it's a special gift I have, I think Oh God, he's been in a car accident.

I dial again. No answer. And again. No answer.

Finally the phone rings and I pick up--but not before checking the Caller ID because, well, I'm no fool. It's him.

Hello.

I got in a car accident.

Damn me and my psychic abilities!

Turns out it was just a bump from another driver, but Carlos was lucky he called me, the Judge Judy of our house.

Did you call the police?

No.

Call them. You need a police report.

But the girl seems nic--

Call them.

Okay.

And take pictures of the car and the damages.

So he does as the Court Orders and all is well. A dent on the door and a couple of scratches on the fender. Carlos was more hurt than the car, and only emotionally because he loves PatsyEdwina--that's what he calls the car.

Sometimes I feel like Lucy and Ricky, and sometimes I feel like Abbott and Consuelo.