What a Day!

I bought myself some very pretty flowers yesterday. So spring-y, so pretty. And today, I decided to take them to work with me to brighten up my desk. Of course I had already put them in water and dumped in the special packet of flower-keep-em-alive magic powder, so the water was coming along too. I drove with my pretty flowers safely tucked between my legs and drove carefully so as not to arrive to work looking as though I have a bladder control problem. Unfortunately, I had bigger problems awaiting me.

While, driving down Maple Street in way west Omaha, a turkey darted out in front of me, roadrunner style, and I slowed to let him scoot across. But, since turkeys are not the brightest of big fat delicious birds, it decided that it should attempt flight. That put it in a direct collision course with my windshield.

So, I think I killed me my first turkey. Weapon of choice = PT Cruiser. Some kids play PT Cruiser Bruiser. I play PT Cruiser KILLER.

So, it smashed into my windshield shattering it and sending tiny bits of glass all over the car. I'm not sure of the outcome for the turkey, but I don't imagine he walked away. Neither did my windshield. So, I pulled into a nearby parking lot and called my mom.
(At what age do we stop calling our mother's in an emergency? Probably never. At least for me. And, luckily she still comes to my rescue every single time. Thanks Mama.)

So, I got out, brushed off most of the glass on my clothes. Dumped the glass out of my shoes. And started swearing. A lot. There was a police officer sitting on the side of the road nearby. He didn't bother to come see if I was ok. I guess the stream of foul language flowing from my mouth left him with no worries about my well-being.
Anyhow, I drove myself to work, feeling the stares of all my fellow drivers. "Holy crap! Look at her car! There's a feather sticking out of her windshield!" I would rather get attention for being so cute and driving such a cute car, not the pitying and questioning glances I was getting. Once at work, I could feel every tiny piece of glass that I had missed in my shoes. Step. Stab. Step. Stab.

On the bright side, with all of that glass all over me, I sparkle like Edward Cullen. Maybe I'll be mistaken for a vampire today. I always suspected that Edward and I were destined to be together.

(By the way, I learned this week that Anne Bancroft was 35 years old when she played Mrs. Robinson. I am 35 years old. I could be Mrs. Robinson.)