My wife, Laura, has a habit of getting defensive whenever something goes wrong behind the wheel.
So when she called me from a grocery store parking lot saying she had “barely touched someone,” I already knew the story might be complicated.
By the time I arrived, a police officer was taking statements.
Laura was furious.
“That man was staring at his phone!” she said, pointing toward a guy standing nearby.
Then she added, “And he was drinking beer! How irresponsible can you be?”
The officer looked at him.
Then at Laura.
Then back at him.
I could tell he was struggling not to smile.
Laura kept going.
“He should be the one getting cited.”
Finally, the officer raised one hand.
“Ma’am, I need to clarify something.”
Laura crossed her arms.
“What?”
“He wasn’t driving.”
She blinked.
The officer pointed toward a picnic table beside the edge of the lot.
“He was sitting there.”
I stared at my wife.
Apparently, while backing out, Laura had turned too sharply, climbed the curb, crossed a strip of grass, and bumped the picnic table.
The man had been sitting there using his phone and drinking a beer from the convenience store next door.
Thankfully, nobody was hurt.
Only the table had minor damage.
Laura went completely quiet.
Then she looked at me and whispered, “You are never telling anyone about this.”
I nodded seriously.
“Of course not.”
And I kept that promise.
Mostly.
