Sometimes you’re the windshield…

…and sometimes you’re the bug.

This week, I appear to be the bug that hits the windshield, gets doused with wiper fluid, thrown off violently with the wiper.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I’m not sure what’s happened to cause the world to tilt but I sure hope whatever it is, it corrects itself soon, because seriously?

I don’t know how much more I can stand.

Although I will never say it can’t get any worse.

NEVER.

Know why?

Because once, I went to return an item to a friend.  I got in my little “rice rocket” — a very small, China made car that was white and headed toward my destination.  Not a mile from the house, the car broke down.

I hitched a ride (with infant Matthew in tow) by a very nice woman in a mini-van with a big plant and a gazillion kids.  She took me back to my friend’s house and I left Matthew with her, while I took my other car to go and get a part for the first car that broke down.

Before walking out of her house, I looked at her and said, “it can’t get any worse.”

Two miles down the road, the second car broke down.

I kid you not.

Because this was the time before cell phones… let me back up.  There were cell phones, but they were the size of a shoe and only really rich people and drug dealers had them… anywho, I couldn’t call my friend.

So I hitched yet another ride back home.

And then called the tow truck to haul, not one, but TWO cars back to my house.

I’m determined that I’m going to get through all this petty crap that’s coming my way because what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, right?

By the time I’m done, I’ll be a sumo wrestler.

Until next time…