Irony

I was in a car accident today.

No, I don't mean a metaphorical one (though I'll be getting to that in a second). I mean, on the corner of 3rd N 5th E, I got rammed by a 1989 Dodge Ram. My bumper came off clean and I did a fancy 180 in the street.

Luckily, I'm okay. My head hurt for a while earlier, but I think it's mostly because I started bawling the minute the police officer drove away. And luckily, there was zero damage to the other girl's car, aside from a few spots of paint that transfered from my bumper to her grill.

Interestingly, though (and this is where I'm getting metaphorical), I had just dropped off a friend of mine with whom I'd spent the afternoon-- with whom I fancied myself in love with for the majority of my teenage years. Ah, Super Saturdays certainly made sparks fly, didn't they? Anyway, it was indeed a super Saturday today, if not a Super Saturday, and it was the first time we've hung out in more than a year. I felt good about it. Perhaps not good enough to start thinking romantically again, but good.

Though I must say, getting in a car accident a mere 2 blocks from his apartment certainly drives the point home a little.

Bottom line: I'm not going to marry that boy. If I try to, my house will probably catch on fire or something.