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You know what I hate more than anything? What, if I had a true nemesis, that nemesis would be?
Car doors.
I can't wait until this bruise on my arm blooms out fully, if the half-dollar sized dent in The Stig is any indication of the damage. Ow. SUV doors really pack a punch.
Hate car doors.
On the plus side, this guy was super cordial and apologetic about it. I mean, it's a freak sort of accident, and I don't hold it against people unless they're complete tools like Mr. "Don't Worry About My Car!" I feel bad that I actually was hurt badly enough that I had to file a police report this time, because it probably ruined his evening, but man, ow. And I shouldn't feel bad about going to get my wrist checked out tomorrow, but I do, because his insurance is probably going to go up just because he didn't check his mirror before he opened his door. I mean, it was right into me. I didn't even see it coming. Stupid 53rd Street. At least it was just after a stop sign, so no one was going fast enough to run me over afterwards. Which, of course, didn't limit the terror of finding myself flat on the pavement looking back at an oncoming red car. I immediately panicked and rolled away, and then had two almost-simultaneous thoughts, which were: 1) Omg did that just break my arm? followed by 2) I was almost Sam Tylered there. And that made me laugh until I started crying. The poor man, he probably thought he'd really hurt me. Then I told him my shoe was still under his car. And that's when the police came.
And crap what is this now like, twice in a month? Geez. I guess I need to start riding in the middle of the road so cars can hit me head-on instead.
But now, aside from being very sore and covered in ice, I'm mostly sad that I didn't make it to Doctor Who night. Darnit, car doors. Way to interfere with my already-meager social life.
Car doors.
I can't wait until this bruise on my arm blooms out fully, if the half-dollar sized dent in The Stig is any indication of the damage. Ow. SUV doors really pack a punch.
Hate car doors.
On the plus side, this guy was super cordial and apologetic about it. I mean, it's a freak sort of accident, and I don't hold it against people unless they're complete tools like Mr. "Don't Worry About My Car!" I feel bad that I actually was hurt badly enough that I had to file a police report this time, because it probably ruined his evening, but man, ow. And I shouldn't feel bad about going to get my wrist checked out tomorrow, but I do, because his insurance is probably going to go up just because he didn't check his mirror before he opened his door. I mean, it was right into me. I didn't even see it coming. Stupid 53rd Street. At least it was just after a stop sign, so no one was going fast enough to run me over afterwards. Which, of course, didn't limit the terror of finding myself flat on the pavement looking back at an oncoming red car. I immediately panicked and rolled away, and then had two almost-simultaneous thoughts, which were: 1) Omg did that just break my arm? followed by 2) I was almost Sam Tylered there. And that made me laugh until I started crying. The poor man, he probably thought he'd really hurt me. Then I told him my shoe was still under his car. And that's when the police came.
And crap what is this now like, twice in a month? Geez. I guess I need to start riding in the middle of the road so cars can hit me head-on instead.
But now, aside from being very sore and covered in ice, I'm mostly sad that I didn't make it to Doctor Who night. Darnit, car doors. Way to interfere with my already-meager social life.
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...Why does your life keep trying to kill you? This is no good. DD:
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