Not long ago I was involved in a traffic accident. I was bumped from behind by a teeny tiny Asian lady driving a Honda Accord. Her car was not damaged and my car got a very small scratch but I thought everything was fine until I told Manchild about it. He insisted that I have the car checked out at a body shop to make sure that the squishers behind the bumper were OK. By the way, "squishers" is an official auto body term. You know, the things that absorb the shock when you're hit from behind.
Anyway, after a month of procrastinating I finally called the insurance company so I could get my car checked out. A very nice man met me at my place of employment and performed a field check on my cars hiney. And when he showed up, all of my tics and vomitosis of the mouth went into overdrive.
I felt guilty for even making such a big deal over a teeny little scratch so the first thing I told the poor guy was that I had called him at the insistence of my husband. I then proceeded to tell him how there was concern that the squishers had been damaged but that in my unprofessional opinion, there was nothing to worry about. Then I apologized about 3,000 times for having him out to look at a teeny scratch and a bunch of nothingness. Then I told him that I wanted to keep my car forever because it was a collectors item and that there were only 1,650 of that particular car made in the entire United States. And I told him that in the entire metroplex, there was only 1 other car like mine. And then I told him that it had a super duper big HEMI engine and that it'd really get up and go when I wanted it to. And I told him 285 other inconsequential facts while he was trying to work.
All the time that I was telling him everything, my eye was watering like crazy and the inner portion of my right nostril was itching so I kept dabbing at tears and scratching inside my nose. Of course, my lips were stuck together and I licked of an entire layer of enamel off of my teeth trying to get the imaginary lipstick off of them. When the first rivulet of sweat began it's downward journey I immediately began squeezing my arms against my sides in a futile attempt to stop the flow. Then I started obsessing that I stank because I was nervous sweating so I kept inching away from the guy but I had to move closer again because I couldn't hear what he was saying. I was doing the classic "dab the eye, pick the nose, lick the teeth, pry the dry lips apart, squeeze the arms against the body" bob and weave. I am positively sure that the man thought I was tweaking on something.
The guy finally finished his inspection and