Oh, Dear Sweet Shitttttt. It Happened Again. (Patreon)

So, I understand. With great power comes great responsibility. I want to insert a disclaimer here, because this seems to be the right time to do so: I do not go out into that good world with the intention of causing any trouble. More often than not, I am only running my errands. These days, that involves hitting up the same half-dozen shops, visiting the ATM to make sure that those shops get the money necessary to maintain enterprise, and to (of course) pay rent.

I remember what that was like back in the States. That was shitty, even then. I subscribe to the class that will never own a home, and I have come to peace with that. Hey, you know what? I haven’t even had a driver’s license that’s been active since… Oh, damn, it just hit me… Under Georgia law, I would have to take the whole practical and written exams all over again. Guess I’m gonna be Uber-ing for a while.

In this economy, with these gas prices? I s’pose I might be better off.

On that note, when I DID have the whole protection under the Like-A-Good-Neighbor (and to be fair, they were an OK company) folks, I was… not the best driver.

I wasn’t. I was the gal who had undiagnosed ADHD, and since the technology was still new, would think it was perfectly fine to sit at a stoplight and text. At best. Or, at worst, jot a quick “K” to folks while speeding at 65 MPH.

We should not trust 16-year-olds to get affordable, inexpensive drivers licenses. These are children who cannot vote, drink, smoke, have consensual sex, or emancipate without extenuating circumstances… and we let them operate 1-ton machines that move at a speed that would have shocked our great grandparents.

It happened again.

I like not driving anymore. I don’t have to, it’s easier.

And yet, I have a responsibility to other drivers.

Imagine. And I’m not bragging here. Please don’t think that I’m bragging. It’s actually gotten to me a little today.

So, here’s what happened.

I was walking down Calle 38. It’s a casual street, homes and a shop or two, but as is common with this town, there’s an awkward Stop Sign structure a las esquinas. Or, as was the case in my shitty driving days, a car just kinda stops sometimes. Nobody’s fault, because you just need to stop when a car stops in front of you. Otherwise… Fender bender.

That was the nice thing about the last couple of hellish years. I was in the middle of Goddamn nowhere. What a treasure, to be so far away from anyone or anything that could do you harm, or… CONVERSELY! …that you could do harm to!

It’s the screech that hits first. Before the bang-boob-crunch. I’m not sure how many milliseconds it takes for a near-miss to turn into an accident, that musical differential between the notes. And for crying out loud, I am not responsible for (to the best of my knowledge!) any injuries, or God Forbid, deaths! Ugh. I’ve stuck around long enough to make sure.

Not that I would have been much help if I would have maintained my place on the sidewalk. I mean, put yourself in my position… Do you just hang there? Do you do your part to help fill out the police report?

“Hello, Officer. So sorry. It’s just that I was walking down the street with my canvas bag filled with fresh tortillas, a couple of onions, a little Zippy-bag of beans, and a fifth of Whiskey. Sorry that the sideward glance lasted just a hair too long, and resulted in this unfortunate altercation.”

Nah. Otherwise, there are more questions. So, you duck away. Catch an Indiana Jones belt of bourbon in some hidden-hole until the fuzz reverts.

It used to happen when I lived in another big city.

You have to imagine. I didn’t have the boobs until I was in my 30s. You know? You don’t think about it, at least until somebody tells you that that’s the reason.

And then, you move to a quiet place.

And then, you revert. You have to. You come back, out into the open. And the world is profoundly different than it was before. But normal is still just a little more normal than you expected it to be. Would have probably been a little better if it was all just a little less normal.

Who knows. Maybe the next great pandemic will make all the ladies get big ol’ giant tiddies, instead of chronic respiratory diseases. Different types of chest infections.

Or maybe encephalitis. Meh. I ain't not docter-persen. 

In the meantime, you walk down the street, and every once in a while, you realize that there’s a car that’s gonna crash into another car, and that you forgot that that was a thing that just kinda happens sometimes.

Great power, and great responsibility, and all that.

Don’t text-and-drive; keep your eyes on the road; and if you see a lady like me going for a stroll on the sidewalk, for God’s sake, buy her a drink first. State Farm will thank you for it.

Ahhhh…. That feeling. When you bump into someone’s rear end. And you realize the cost. Distracting.

Innuendo very much intended.