Wow. Not to worry you or anything, but I just got hit by a car.
Not figuratively or as some sort of sexual innuendo. I mean I literally just got hit by a car. A girl just whipped through- well into- the crosswalk without slowing down much as far as I can tell. If I’d thought for a second she was really going to do that, I might not have stepped in front of her. No, I probably would’ve anyway.
My feet didn’t move, so I didn’t really fall onto the hood, but it was a pretty good tap directly to my left knee. She stopped quickly enough it didn’t get twisted or hyperextended, and now that I can see it, it’s not even bruised. I suppose if anyone can take a whack to the legs, it’s probably me.
She was contrite and I don’t think I’m hurt, but in retrospect I probably should’ve made a bigger deal out of it. I limped home thinking about that asshole judge in DC who’s suing his dry cleaner for tens of millions of dollars because he didn’t get his favorite pants back same day and with the satisfaction he was guaranteed. What a tool.
But… what if I really did screw my knee up and couldn’t walk three miles a day to commute? What would that cost me? Not millions, but it’d be a lot. And unlike losing your pants, there’d be real pain and suffering involved.
On the bright side, I’d have one more thing in common with House. Wait, maybe that goes in the “con” column.
We’ll see how I feel in the morning, but close examination says it’s fine, so I’ll happily let her off the hook if it’s that easy. Hope so. Otherwise I’d have to decide between settlement and vengeance, which sounds like a tough choice.