Yesterday I was headed downtown to drool over exhibitions at Dwell on Design at the Convention Center. On the ramp that connects I-10 East with I-110 North, traffic was stop-and-go around the big curve, as usual. The car in front of me hit the brakes. I hit the brakes and stopped. Guess who didn’t? Yep, the woman behind me with the dog in her lap. WHAM. She hits me. I look into my rear-view, see her look up from said lap dog, and WHAM, she hits me again, as the car behind her impacts us.

These are the things I’m grateful for:
- Violet wasn’t in the car
- No one was hurt
- My car seems OK, just minor bumper damage, I think
- The police report was smooth
- The doggie wasn’t hurt; since it was the only passenger without a seatbelt, that really could have sucked

The other two drivers’ cars were pretty smashed up. Windshield glass, fronts accordion-style, fluids dripping from under the hoods. A far worse day for each of the other drivers than for me. Still, it sucked the wind out my sails, and I went right home afterwards, skipping Dwell. Because I just wanted a hug, and I had a headache, and I was worried I might have a lot of phone calls to make about my car. (Turns out this process is a million times easier than it used to be, thankfully.)

It was only 10:30 in the morning, but if you subscribe to the superstition that morbid things happen in threes, I was covered: I stepped in gum while giving the police report statement, and I passed a dead kitten in the third lane on the freeway drive home. Hm. Covered, but possibly jaded? Did I just equate a dead kitten with gum on my shoe? I guess I hope it was quick for the kitten; the gum can suffer.

So drive extra carefully this week, please! Pay attention. Come to a full stop. Slow for that yellow light. Put your phone away. I’m talking to myself as much as to you. Want more convincing? Read this.