If the accident I'd been in on I-15 yesterday had been my final reckoning, it would have been deeply and profoundly unjust in every imaginable way. A newlywed, a new homeowner, a bright young little thing with ambition to change the world and sing songs to ponies and annoy her cat as much as he annoys her. I hope that's what you'd say, anyway, when singing my restful praises. But in one, small, fraction of a minutia sort of way, it would have been just timing.
You see, as my car launched momentarily in the air after running over the drive train in the slow lane of I-15, I had a flash of a thought. It only lasted perhaps 1/100 of a second before I returned to thinking about how to control my car, how to get over to the side of the freeway, whether or not my vehicle was about to explode, etc., but I did clearly think to myself "If I die, my last meal on earth would be a corn dog. How nice."
It's true. Earlier that day, I devoured one of the most delectable corn dogs from Crown Burger in downtown Salt Lake, and it was divine. Hot and crunchy, sweet and savory, delicately dipped in Crown Burger's exquisite fry sauce. You couldn't have asked for a better final meal. Well, okay, maybe YOU could have, but as we've discussed, my standards are low. Now I wish I had a picture of my Final Meal that Wasn't a Final Meal. So you could know. But alas, my vivid description will have to do.
However, I do have a really crummy picture of my car on the tow truck:
I have watched my car sail off into the sunset with a tow truck lover more times than I choose to remember, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was only my fault, rmmm 28% of the time. This car is just terrible luck. And it's not just bad luck for me- when I lived in DC and had no car, my parents were using the car here and there, and they did something to the back end of the car- I don't even know what because they told me about it after they'd fixed it. Solid call. I've been hit by a drunk driver, mistakenly towed, scraped, dinged, and once I rear ended the van of a mariachi band- in full costume (that one was my fault). The first week that I had this car, I slid down the hill from campus in a snow storm and hit a pole, which didn't seem to cause any damage, but for some reason made my car alarm go off at 3 in the morning for no reason for about a week. Which is also why I never named this car. Even though I've had her for 4 years and 90,000 miles, I still believe at any given moment she'll be dead, and I'll have to say goodbye to a named car. The namelessness is good. Keeps things distant.
Anyway, I survived, the other guy is paying for it, and she's in the shop. All is well. Once I finally made it home last night, my only obligation was to chill out and calm down, eat some grub, and go to sleep. At some point in the evening I discovered that my lower legs were completely covered in hives which I acquired from the roadside weeds waiting for the police officer, so I took some Benadryl and figured that oughta have me out like a light in about 10 minutes.
Instead, I was anxious, fidgety, and felt like maybe I was on the edge of hyperventilating, even an hour after the incident, so I decided to DO something. I decided to make a cake.
For the record, I don't really know how to make a cake, so I just kind of winged it off box directions, and replaced the icing (the hard part, right?) with heavy whipped cream. and put plum jam in the middle. I decided that I was celebrating my survival, and my intact, able body. An "I survived" cake. There are two slices gone, so if you'd like to celebrate life, let me know and I'll send you a slice, or come over and celebrate with me. It's a good day.