I sold my car last summer. So we've been a single car family for a while. No problem, really. We both WFH so the car only gets used a couple times a week.

Seven days ago I started a ritual all men of a certain age have to go through. It involves the Five Days of Soft Food, The Day of Liquid Diet, The Festival Of Laxatives, then The Fast, and finally, The Penetration. Hallelujah. All praise the holy endoscope.

So last night, Mrs was driving home from work (she left me alone to enjoy my laxatives) and she needed to stop for gas. But, because the east coast is in full panic and nobody can possibly last until the weekend without a full tank of gas, there was no gas to be had, anywhere - 75% of gas stations in the area are out of gas today and the rest have lines hours long. So she left the car at a gas station 25 miles away and took a Lyft back home.

Today, no gas anywhere so we can't get the car. I scheduled a Lyft for my procedure, but it turns out that neither Lyft nor Uber will even come out to where we live. No driver accepts our ride request. I am supposed to be at the Dr at 1:00. 12:55, Mrs sends an email to the neighborhood asking if anyone has a car we can borrow. Because there is no way I'm going to re-do this miserable ritual.

And one of our neighbors comes through! So I get in his very new car, very gently back out while he watches, very gently drive to my house to pick up my wife and then burn rubber to get to the Dr.. On the way, we call the Dr. to explain, they're cool with it.

The procedure was fine. Roll onto my side, pass out. Wake up smiling. I love propofol.

On the way home, Mrs is driving and we come to a stop light that's a two-lane merge onto another two-lane road. We're on the inside lane. The light turns and the car on the outside lane cuts it too close and drags his fucking mirror up the side of my neighbor's new car.

We get him to pull over, he denies doing anything. I'm trippin on propofol and am having none of that bullshit. Mrs diffuses the situation. We exchange info. Most of what we can see rubs off - it's just rubber from his mirror. There are some spots that won't rub off, though. Uh oh.

We get home, get a rag and some Windex, start rubbing, and it all comes off! Yay! We decide not to tell him about it because no damage was done and etc..

She drives the car to the neighbor's house, with a bottle of wine, and then tells them about what happened. He goes out, looks... there's a dent.

GahhhhhH!!!