*BANG*

So. I am fully prepared for many of you to read the following post and back slowly, slowly away from me, possibly forever, because how can one person be such a magnet for bad luck? And won't it start to rub off on those around me? And you know what? I WOULDN'T BLAME YOU. I'm pretty sure my own mother will start screening my phone calls very soon. If she hasn't already. But I would encourage you to read on, before you un-follow my blog and block my number from your cell phones, because any story involving picking shards of glass from my underwear in a random Dairy Queen bathroom while my child looks on in horror warrants a good chuckle before never talking to me again, right?

Now that I have your attention.

After a few mental health days spent up north at my mom's house, Zoey and I were heading home on Wednesday afternoon along 167 somewhere near Auburn. We were about 20 minutes from home, it was pouring down rain, I had to pee like no other, and Zoey had fallen asleep somewhere back near Renton. So there was no way I was making a pit stop. So there I am, cruising along in rainy traffic, when I hear a loud *BANG* and suddenly I am driving while covered in glass. And rain. The rain and muddy road splash streaming in from my now-shattered driver's side window. Glass. Everywhere. I continue to drive this way for, oh, maybe 10 seconds (one of my few redeaming qualities is that I can generally maintain safe driving skills until pulled over to the side of the road, no matter what the situation) thinking 'how did the happen? Glass? WHAT THE F**K?' At which point I somehow manage to maneuver to the skinny right-hand shoulder and call 911. Seriously, I thought I had been shot at. (And Zoey? Slept through the whole thing.) I kind of lost my cool with the 911 operator and I'm amazed she could get the full story out of me, what with my wobbly and shaky voice. She said she'd send a state trooper my way. And then she hung up.

And then I completely lost my cool.

You know those phone calls you make to your mother, even in adulthood, when things just really aren't going your way, and you need someone to listen to you have a complete meltdown over the phone? Or is this an activity that only I engage in at the age of 31? Anyway. I'm standing on the side of the freeway being sprayed by mud and water by passing semi trucks, STILL COVERED IN GLASS SHARDS, shaking so hard I can barely dial the phone, but did manage to get my mom on the line. The early stages of the conversation went something like this:

Me: Moooo-oom?

Mom: Amy? Are you okay?

Me: *sobbing*

Mom: Amy? AMY?!? What's going on?? Are you okay?!

Me: *sobbing*

Mom: Amy. Amy. You need to calm down. YOU NEED TO STOP CRYING.

Me: *hysterical sobbing. followed by shaking hysterical sobbing*

We continued in this manner until I could calm down enough to tell her what happened. And then Zoey woke up and began to cry and I started to wonder where in the hell was this state trooper, considering I had seen something like 34 of them along the way pulling people over for speeding, and where was one when you could feel itchy shards of glass migrating down your underpants and your daughter was crying because she wants Mommy to get back in the car and drive her home?

Seriously. It took him forever to get there. And when he did he was very kind but the only information he could offer me was that he found no evidence someone had shot at me (good? yes?) and then he called a tow truck. (After asking 'would you like to try and drive it home?' ARE YOU KIDDING ME.)

Another long wait.

The middle-aged, somewhat scruffy looking tow-truck driver who showed up something like nine hours later? Was my knight in shining armor. Took one look a the car, at me, said cheerfully 'well, this doesn't look good!' and proceeded to efficiently bundle Zoey and I in to the cab of his truck ('don't forget to grab her blankie, now, she'll probably want that') and quickly scooped up my poor, craggy-glassed Toyota Corolla behind his massive red tow truck and we were off.

And people? DID I EVER HAVE TO PEE AT THIS POINT. And my back was seriously itchy. I had shaken as much of the glass off as possible on the side of the road, but damn. The itching.

Once we were moving in the direction of the auto glass place someone at State Farm had directed me to, and Mr. Tow-Truck Driver was pleasantly chit-chatting about needing to take his dose of allergy medication because he had missed a dose this morning and you know? If you miss another pill those miserable allergies, they'll just sneak up on you, I worked up the nerve to ask if we could possibly stop somewhere to use the bathroom. 'Well, sure! I could use something to drink anyway! There's a Dairy Queen right up the street here!'

I am not joking when I say he whipped his truck and my lagging car into and around the parking lot of Dairy Queen like nobody's business.

After ushering Zoey and I in to the restaurant, we quickly found the women's bathroom. And let me tell you. YOU HAVEN'T LIVED UNTIL YOU PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS TO PEE AND HAVE TO SCRAPE SHARDS OF GLASS OUT OF YOUR UNDERWEAR. Even I could appreciate, in the moment, what an awesome story this could make once I could stop with the shaking and the crying. Zoey watched me itching and scraping while leaning against the (probably filthy) wall and only commented 'oh, Mommy....'

It was a long day. Looooong. Moral of the story?

1. Toyota, your acceleration and computer mechanisms may suck, BUT THANK GOD FOR INSTALLING SAFETY GLASS. So you've done something right. I guess I could be lounging around in an ICU somewhere right now, recovering from a head injury, had the still-unknown flying object actually made it through the window and connected with my skull.

2. Even in the midst of the shittiest day on record, you will still find hope that not all of humanity is out to get you. Like Mr. Tow-Truck Driver. The awesome people at my State Farm office. The even cooler employees of Genuine Auto Glass, who fixed my window in less than three hours.

3. Situations like these present themselves, perhaps, when you're sitting around wondering what to blog about.

But I'll still understand if you don't want to hang out with me anymore.