Last night, I was initiated into an elite Southern club, what I like to call: "I hit a deer."
I was driving home, talking to my Dad when I noticed a doe standing along the right side of the road. I slowed to about 10 mph. The doe saw me and I thought she decided not to cross the road. However, like most women, she changed her mind. I suppose it is our prerogative. So she crossed right when I passed her. I veered left since no cars were coming. Then I heard it. That inevitable buh-dump-duh-dump-dump thud sound.
"Dad, I hit a deer."
Ol' Rob Bob would never admit he was worried/scared/nervous. But I know he was. I pulled over as instructed to inspect my car. No dents or bumps. The loud thud was apparently my side mirror popping in. So I popped it back out and headed home. This morning, upon inspection in the daylight, I noticed speckles of blood. Sad. And 10 deer hairs in my window pane. Gross. (David has a mini-project.) I do have one small itty bitty ding from a hoof I think. All in all, I think I walked away pretty easily. I must admit, I was soooo relieved when I saw there was no major damage.
David, who takes light of mostly anything, decided to tease me about the whole situation. He laid a huge guilt trip, saying I probably killed Bambi's mom and left her for dead. What a horrible thought. But, there's no way that broad had anything more than a bruise and perhaps a bald spot.