Carma

a matter of time, i know.

Okay.

Deep breath.

It was bound to happen. It’s probably a good thing that it happened.

It needed to happen, maybe, even, kinda.

There is a scratch. On the car.

The new car. Doesn’t even have a name yet. Only had it less than two weeks. Scratch on the paint.

It’s not even a scratch, more like a gouge. It’s like, someone was angry. Angry with me and my new car.

And, okay, yeah, I’m not a moron, I know that it’s going to get scratches and dings and things. It’s a car. But I really thought I was going to get maybe… a month or so before I was going to see big pieces of missing paint.

But now I can relax because the first mark has been made on the car. It’s done. It’s over. It’s just a car now, not this big new thing.

But, come on! Who parks their car two inches from a new car and then rams their door into the side of the new car to squeeze themselves out of their car, ripping off the paint on the new car with your stupid car door? Who does that? It’s not my fault that the car didn’t have enough room to park. I was parked correctly. It was the jag on the other side that was fat parking. Scratch his damn door. Not mine. I was trying to be innocent.

I was so angry when I saw that yesterday that I shouted and pointed at things randomly, as if people were going to come running to their balconies to fight for my justice. Instead I gaped around and crowed, like everyone was giggling behind their curtains.

Then I wrote down their license plate number. I’m such a dork, y’all. What am I going to do with that license plate number? I’m sure it was an accident and Drunky McParkSure just pulled in and squished out of the car and didn’t even notice taking off a one inch piece of paint from the side bumper thingy.

If I don’t even know what they’re called, I guess I don’t deserve to have them pristine.

And, okay, I guess I’ve done that. Once or twice. On accident. This is probably my karma coming back at me. I should have left a note or apologized, or not run screaming from the person trying to ask me a question. Maybe if I had fessed up to all of the times I saw a friend bump a car in a lot and drive off, or when I nicked the side of a car trying to parallel park and then decide “it’s fine” without really knowing if it is, or opening my car door a little harder than necessary when that jerk is parked next to me– if i hadn’t done all of these things, maybe my little car would still have all of its silver paint.

This is why I can’t have nice things.

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