Alice Fitzhugh
If it weren't for the accident last night, I wouldn't have the possibility of a photography job for a musician.
If it weren't for the accident last night, I wouldn't have the possibility of a photography job for a musician.
I was laying in bed snuggling with my 6 month old son when my brother called crying hysterically that his wife had just died in a car accident, leaving him a widow with 5 little kids to raise on his own.
As my car started its sideways slide down the exit ramp, I couldn't help but think that my craving for Burger King was about to get me killed.
It wasn't until I looked on the floor in the backseat of my car that I realized my lacy black thong was still on the floor from two nights ago.
I had only had my driver's license for a few weeks and really hadn't given much thought to what would happen if you hooked up the jumper cables on the wrong terminals.
In spite of the damage to my car and my body, I couldn't help but laugh at becoming the second person in my family to hit a Burger King.
When I told the hardware store worker my plan to paint on my ex-boyfriends pristine BMW, without hesitation, she asked what color.
When asked by the mechanic what sort of engine I had, I responded "A black one," and didn't understand why he couldn't stop laughing.
My car was stolen and when it was found 5 hours later the thief had replaced a spark plug and filled it with gas.
When I was four, I ran my dads car into a brick wall in a supermarket parking lot.
I knew it was going to be a long ride home when he put 'Nothing Else Matters' in repeat mode on the car stereo.
The loneliest goat I ever saw was out in the field as I drove by, the wooden fence marking the boundary of the pasture underneath the hanging gray clouds.
As I rounded the hill of the I-35 & I-435 interchange, I thought it was just an old guy in tight white pants whose car had broken down, but then when he turned around, I realized he was an Elvis impersonator, complete with studded polyester pants, tight chest-hair showing shirt, big sunglasses, and the Elvis hair.
I swear to god, the doctor actually said, "This guy's some kind of queer putting toy cars up his ass."
I finally saw how pathetic my car was when I had to use a drink tray from McDonald's strategically placed on the median of my front seat as cup holders.
I didn't realize I had forgotten to take the pump out of my tank until I drove away.
Nothing spells dismay as much as realizing at 80 miles an hour that your tire has come off.