As usual, I was in a rush.
I seem to have 2 speeds: asleep and hurry.
I was late getting home, and
in my flurry to get into the house to start dinner,
I shoved open my car door with too much enthusiasm.
It clunked into the lawn mower handle.
A long, angry, black mark scarred the car door.
How was I going to explain this to Mr. 4-Ever?
I had already wrecked the car twice since we’d been married.
Now every time I say, “Honey, I need to talk to you,”
he jokingly responds,
“Robyn, did you wreck the car again?”