Good News!

I was rewarded for standing out in the drizzle Monday morning to show the car's damage to the insurance lady--a brusque but smart lady with a short blond shag and eyeglasses. She knew her stuff, looked at all the same things the body repair guy did, and wound up with. . . get this. . . a higher estimate. When I called the insurance company ('cos I didn't know what to do next), they said they were sending out a check. Soon as I have that in my hot little hands, the car's going in to get fixed.

As a matter of principle, it's good to get the car restored to its prior condition. But from a personal standpoint, I want to get it done because I just can't stand it anymore. It's not about having to look at the giant holes in my bumper every time I go to my car. There definitely are important lights out, because other drivers are riding my car's tail hard. (Or are they all just "dumb buttocks" as Val once called them in a rare subdued FO moment?) I'm so afraid I'm going to get hit again that it's making driving very nerve-wracking.

So when the check arrives, there will be a little happy dance before phone calls are made to the body shop and the rental place.


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