An Aversion to Fish

Here forth is the recounting of the event that confirmed my adamant opposition to the branding of my vehicle with the ubiquitous Ichthus:

Graciously, catastrophe often lends me great warning; like the ominous crescendo of the Jaws theme music, mini- mishaps signal a spectacular climatic end. Specifically, last evening, the futility of shopping with children during the “witching hour” was confirmed by the shrieks of (nap-less) pain as a container of Comet dropped on Eowyn’s toe and all present employees performed the “litigation liability dash to disaster.” They looked dubious as I assured them of their immunity, pointedly noting that Eowyn would live to knock Comet off store shelves another day. Sad societal commentary that it is.

Whimpering children in tow, I eventually resigned myself to return to the homestead where Playskool poses little threat to their appendages. However, as I slowly began to pull out from my parking spot, gingerly avoiding the shiny Lexus that’s proximity only allowed for anorexics to exit my passenger door, I observed that the vehicle behind me had also elected to back out moments later. What to do? Having already pulled 75% out of my spot (important detail for insurance claims personnel), I immediately braked and began to beep with fervor. Evidently, the driver was unfamiliar with the benefits afforded by a rear-view mirror or general parking lot protocol. Motionless. Shocked- not unlike watching Jake offer Vienna the final rose- I watched as he hit me.

The first thing I did was call my mom. While I am confident a shrink could have a field day with this admission, the aggressive response of the vehicular antagonist is of greater note. Somberly convening at the point of impact, the driver, a tall middle-aged man lumbered over to scrutinize the damage…in the dark, as his angry accomplice sporting the “Hillary Rodham 1994 bouffant” emerged from her lair. Immediately, “Hillary” began to shriek about the absence of a warning beep- to which I suggested my zealous beeping might have been obscured by David Bowie blaring on their stereo. This was not well received by “Hillary” who proceeded to accuse me of warning beep deceit, which, frankly, was immaterial in that they had hit me as I watched, pleading “Stop. Please See Me. Stop. Please stop. I am beeping. Please Stop. . .Crap.”

Now before you begin to conjecture as to my culpability, allow me to anticipate your questions:
1) No, I was not applying more pink lipstick at the time.
2) No, I was not texting, distributing “Puffs” or selecting a playlist on my iPod previous.
3) Yes, my husband is a hot attorney well-versed in collision litigation and corroborates my innocence (on this singular occasion).

When “Hillary” finally paused her menacing tirade, her husband, the driver extraordinaire, detached himself from his severely smashed bumper to address me with rivaled severity. It was these pursuant moments that determined my aforementioned Ichthus aversion- For there, emblazoned on his chest, not unlike a paunch-pronounced Superman “S” was the name of my Christian college Alma Madre- (that is, unless of course, the driver was unveiling his identity as THE “Messiah” instead of just the dad who bankrolls his kid’s liberal arts degree).

It is safe to presume that this charming couple purported to embrace some form of the Christian faith commonly vilified by NPR and Ahmadinejad. Yet, they must have left the “WWJD” bracelets at home that night since their defensive verbal harangue left me speechless and nearly in tears. Fortunately, for Bonnie & Clyde, I am already on their eternal team since the aggressive intimidation of a young mom, dressed in pink with a baby and darling toddler in tow after hitting her car does little for either “Messiah’s” publicity.

And this is precisely why I will never put an Ichthus or allusions to “unmanned vehicles due to the rapture” on my scratched bumper. Even as a TULIP-loving Calvinist, on the rare occasion of less than exemplary driving, I would never want someone’s eternal destination to be affected by my failure to use a turn signal.

In close, thankfully, my kids were unharmed; however, “Hillary” and her malevolent husband are still at large on the roadways, so beware. Their fuel efficient, enviro-friendly Prius is recognizable by its collision deficient, liability-friendly smashed bumper.

Me and the Hot Attorney It was that kind of day