"I didn't think you were going to stop," is what the teenage boy said after he slammed into my car. He was too young to remember the Beach Boys, so it must have been the voices in my head singing "Tach it up, tach it up/Buddy gonna shut you down."
He shut me down, all right. My neck felt as if someone had tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to wring it for Sunday dinner. My head was throbbing, it was 140 degrees in the shade, and I needed to pick up my kids and their friend from climbing camp. Suddenly the Beach Boys were shut out by Blondie singing "One way or another, I’m gonna find ya’, I’m gonna get ya’, get ya’, get ya’, get ya’.....”
I was about to leave the scene when a friend called and assured me that the possibility was slight that stalkers were lurking about, giddy at the prospect of kidnapping the girls. She commanded me to stay until the police arrived.
My children were not as sympathetic as they might have been. Almost comatose from sitting in my car in the heat (but too cheap to keep the AC going), I called my youngest. I was reassuring: "I've been in an accident. I'm not really hurt, and Monica is on her way to pick you up." She said "Okay, bye." About 30 minutes after I got home, my eldest came bouncing up the stairs and said "you okay?" Both of them apparently got a big kick of seeing the accident on the way home -- they treated it like a celebrity sighting: "Hey, that's mom! Boy, she's sweating like a pig!"
Let's say I wasn't feeling the love.
However, I soon began receiving letters that made me feel like the prettiest, most popular girl at the Polka Guild.
Unlike my children, my new friends the personal injury lawyers realized that I was "suddenly dealing with personal injuries, medical expenses, property damage and lost wages," and their mission in life is to protect me from an insurance adjuster so vile that he makes his feeble grandma eat Thanksgiving dinner in the kitchen because she drools. This adjuster would employ any depraved means to take me down....with extreme prejudice.
I retained an eminent attorney who graduated with honors from the University of Baton Rouge School of Law. Butch is so skillful that he came to my house and personally fitted me with a full-body cast, which has a cunning seam that lets me remove it when I'm not in public - I feel like the Girl from U.N.C.L.E. sometimes!
With Butch's help, I've come to realize that in addition to my agonizing physical injuries, my husband has lost my wifely affections (wink, wink, nod, nod). He'll probably run off with a tramp, leading to loss of income for me. I also can't take care of my children properly. Although, frankly, that doesn't bother me too much after their responses to my pain and suffering. Also, I often have ditzy spells that leave me pale and weak.
As my fans know, I've been looking for gainful employment, which has not been that much fun -- I'm sick of people asking me what contributions I made at my previous company. As if they could even recognize talent when it walked in the door and fixed a drink for itself!!!!! Butch told me that I'm in no condition to look for work, and he also shaved my head, although I'm not quite sure why.
I admit that when I'm not bored, I'm in a bad mood -- wrapping myself in that fucking cast every time I leave the house is getting REALLY old. Plus it's gone dingy and has begun emitting a foul odor. Friends have stopped visiting, and even the dotty old bat across the street has stopped bringing me her lousy green bean casserole.
However, Butch assures me that I will get my day in court and that the teenager who hit me can kiss his college funds goodbye! He says it's too bad he can't dig up an old iron lung -- seeing me in that would get some sympathy! I feel kind of bad about the kid - I'm a real people person.
P.S. ANY COMPLAINTS ABOUT THIS BLOG OR THE REPRESENTATION OF ANY LAWYER MAY BE DIRECTED TO THE SUPREME COURT COMMITTEE ON PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT, C/O COUNTY CLERK, ARKANSAS SUPREME COURT.