Tag Archives: flagpole

Another One Bites the Dust

I worked a seven and a half hour shift yesterday at My Retail Job.  When I got off at 5:30 I was anxious to get home.  DH and I had plans to go out with some good friends of ours.  I still had to exercise and get ready.

I got behind a car doing 25 mph.  The speed limit was 30.  I was annoyed.  Because my elliptical, shower, margarita and more importantly, our friends were waiting for me.  I wasn’t tailgating because I don’t like tailgating.  Tailgating will get you in the ass.  Literally.  But I was cursing up a storm. Damning the driver in front of me to hell.

Suddenly, and I don’t know how, a mailbox jumped out right in front of me.  It was the darndest thing.  Well, it didn’t jump out IN front of me, it kinda stuck itself out.  And hit my side-view mirror.  I don’t really know how that happened.  All I thought was that DH is gonna kill me.  I thought I could fix it and he would never notice.  I wasn’t that lucky.

Remember this?

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And the year before I did something like this to another mailbox:

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I didn’t get the chance to take a pic of what I did…ahem…what the mailbox did to my rearview mirror before DH fixed it.  But pretty much the mirror part was hanging out of the thingy thing.  You know, the housing mechanism?  Whatever you call it.  You get my point.

When I got home, I ran to The Kid to tell her but I couldn’t stop laughing.  Her response?  “What did you do, mom?”  Just like the flagpole, I really didn’t find it funny funny.  But I found myself standing there trying not to pee my pants.

My conversation with The Kid after I showed her the damage:

The Kid: Maybe dad won’t notice.

Me:  (wave of relief) You think?

The Kid:  NO!  What is wrong with you?

As for DH’s response.  He was not surprised.  He asked me if I was sure it was a mailbox.  Well, yes.  I think it was.  When I looked in my rearview mirror to see what the hell that was, I saw a mailbox kinda waving a little.  But it was fine.  Still standing.  No real damage.

Besides the mailbox, I think I got hit with a good dose of Karma.  Because of the obscenities I was screaming at the driver in front of me going so slow.  I spent the rest of my drive apologizing to him and God.  I think I learned my lesson.  I just hope no slow poke gets in front of me today.  I really hate that.

Happy Memorial Day?

I know the perfect way to thank a Veteran for their service.  But I don’t suggest you take my lead.  It’s only perfect for me.  Anyone who knows me knows it’s very fitting.

If you have one of those cars with the backup “beep beep” that goes off when there is something behind you, there is a reason for that.  Because there is something behind you.  And when it goes “beep beep” really really fast to the point where it’s a long continuous beeeeeeeepppp, then that means whatever is behind you is going down.  In this case it was a flagpole.  Believe me.  I had fair warning.  But who pays attention to that back up beeping thingy anyway?

It wasn’t funny.  It really wasn’t.  But when you have two 15 year old girls in the car laughing their asses off, it is.  So, when I rang the doorbell to the house of the owner of this broken in half pole, with the flag sacrilegiously touching the ground, she opened the door to a laughing me.  Hysterically laughing me.  Like, cross my legs, I’m gonna pee, laughing me.  But I didn’t really find it funny.  Not really.  At all.

Luckily, I know this woman.  She’s really nice.  But I don’t think she was too happy with me today.  Can you blame her?  I knocked down her beautiful flagpole.  I friggin’ KNOCKED DOWN her flagpole.  With my car.  DH wasn’t too happy with me either.  But he also wasn’t surprised.  I can’t imagine why.

And Happy Memorial Day to everyone.  Thank you to all the men and women who put their life on the line for our country.

And the next time my car beeps at me?  I’ll stop and look.  Maybe.  Because last year I knocked down a mailbox in the same manner.  I think I’ll just keep my car in the forward motion.  I’m much better off.  And so are all inanimate objects.