{woops}

I'll preface this by saying, I swear I'm a good driver, really. 

I was driving to Fancy's Dr appointment and as I was cruising through our subdivision, adjusting the mirrors.  Yes, I should have done this prior to starting the engine.  I was looking in the mirror at the babies (who were making weird noises) and swerved in the nick of time to avoid hitting a mail box.  Or so I thought.  My passenger mirror took the blow.  And cracked.  Woops.

The mailbox sustained a minor dent (so minor I'm not sure it was even really dented), so I didn't bother leaving a note.  I feel hideous and I may go back and offer to replace it, but M said there's no damage and that it would be crazy to do that.  Someone upstairs hates me.  The ole' six six six, cracking a mirror...I'm legitimately afraid to leave the house. 

If you're keeping track, that means a torn front bumper (courtesy of Colorado snow), a hole in the back bumper (courtesy of yours truly), numerous dents and dings (courtesy of numerous assholes at the supermarket, etc), a skid mark on the back left fender (courtesy of me) and now a fucked up passenger mirror (courtesy of...yep, me again).  Hmmm.  I'm embarrassed to re-read that last sentence.  I'm starting to see why M's upset with me.  I'm pretty sure he's 95% convinced we need a van SOOOOOON. 

Tonight we went to a going away party for someone in M's unit.  It was fun to meet everyone. I'm relieved to say, they're all awesome and so welcoming.  What a departure from the hideous people in M's old unit.  The wives were fabulous and the babies went to every single person there, even the dudes.  They were such little hams!  They had a great time and (as usual) were the stars of the party.  Fancy did great.  No crying, whining or even favoring of that arm, makes me feel like we made the right decision to hold off on the cast.  We'll see. 

Best of all, add this sighting to my list of things I never want to see again...ever:  We were leaving the restaurant and detoured to a SUPER rough part of town as a shortcut home.  I saw my very first prostitute.  Is that politically correct?  Street walker?  In the flesh, right on the corner.  She tried to wave down the Escalade in front of us.  She's got good taste.  The good news is she had a skimpy triangle bikini top on, so no boobs showing.  The bad news, pretty sure she was flashing the passing cars her cooter.  Never a dull moment in the south!