So, after a whirling weekend of study and emotional drama today was a kick in the gut. Literally - thanks to my seatbelt. After uni I went to drive myself home. And I managed to fly. Literally. In the air.
. . .
A girl had backed out without seeing me coming, and the back of her car hit the front of my car. And somehow my car lifted off the ground. And into the air. INTO THE AIR.
Anyone who knows me well will understand the gravity of this situation. I LOATHE falling. Heights I'm okay with. Swift downward motions? Not so much.
Needless to say I'm lucky to only have a seatbelt shaped bruise across my chest, and a scratch on my forehead. The Boys car was not so lucky and has extensive damage to her inside bits, which I'm horribly horribly sad about. She was my independence, and had been so good to me. Not to mention that she was The Boys car. And was also his independence. And her insurance apparently had run out two weeks ago . . .
I was lucky that the backing-out girl had not lost her head in the clouds, and had taken witnesses numbers and called the police. And had done everything a normal, sane person who hadn't just been in a flying car would have done.
Still, I was more lucky (as the multiple St John people told me while I was still blabbering on about being OFF THE GROUND) that my head was still attached, and that my insides were still on the inside, and that I hadn't gone straight through the windshield. Makes me appreciate all the work done on car safety and all the crash test dummys that have been thrown out of their seats.
In short, ladies and gentleman, like the good clown said, "MAKE IT CLICK".