This is why they shot Bambi’s Mom.
I would bet money that some hunter was going home one day, and Bambi‘s mom walked in front of his Chevy. Maybe she did it on a bet. Maybe she wanted to prove to Bambi that she was a cool mom. But the Hunter hit her. And she went flying.
Distraught, the Hunter parked his car, followed Bambi’s mom into the woods and shot her, in revenge of his destroyed fender, headlights, and grill.
Today, I am that Hunter. With the exception that I’ve never shot a gun, and will never be that girl in camo.
Remember I was talking a little while ago about how I have terrible luck with technology? Well, apparently cars are considered part of that realm.
I bought a car. It broke. I got it fixed. It worked. Then it broke again
Just. My. Luck.
So, the wheel bearing on my car was breaking and it was bad. So bad that when I drove, LeBebe would tell me that my car was huuuuungraaaaay.
“Mommy, Helmer (the car’s name) is HUNGRY. It’s tummy is grumbly grumbly!”
“No,” I would answer him. “The car isn’t hungry, the car is sick.” And it’s wheel could fall and roll down the side of the road if the wheel bearing breaks. I would add silently in my head.
Finally, it got so bad that I was almost too paranoid to drive it. I found a guy to fix it for cheap, the only bad part being that I had to drive an hour away to West BumbleFuck to do it. And I did. I swallowed my pride, and sacrificed my small wallet, and I drove the hour to get it fixed.
But I did it.
I’m on the way home. I’m on one of those creepy country roads that are in the horror movies. I’m heading towards the highway thinking to myself Thank God I can drive home on the highway now that my wheel bearing is fixed, because I am so afraid I will be assaulted by a serial killer or rapist on this sketchy, sketchy road.
Then I see it. A deer walks in front of me. I hit the brakes. I’ve seen those giant glowing road signs that tell you STOP, DON’T SWERVE. Right away, I realize I’m not going to stop in time. So I’m sorry, road gods, and I swerve a little, thinking I’ll be able to get around him.
The stupid deer moves too.
So, I hit it. It whacks the left front of my car, and down it goes. I hear things falling off my car, but amazingly my car keeps going. Since I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’m still moving, and my car seems okay, I decide to fuck the deer and get to a well lit area.
My dad did tell me later that he really didn’t think I’d get raped or attacked in that area. But you never know, really. There could be creepy men out there. Or you know. The deer family could be pissed off at me and come after me, for revenge and all.
I get to a gas station and I almost cry. My poor, just fixed car.
I call various people and cry a lot. I get that it could have been a lot worse. I could have hit another car. The deer could have come through my windshield. I could have died. But since none of those things happened, I’m having a hard time focusing on the positive and instead just thinking…
I get home, totally unsure of what to do, and on the verge of tears again. My dad sees me. He comes up to give me a hug.
“Well, hey there, deer slayer.”
I AM A DEER SLAYER AND I AM CRYING.
So, now it’s the next day, and I have to deal with calling insurance and finding a good body shop to fix my poor Helmer.
“Hi, my name is L.A. and I hit a deer,” I tell the insurance man.
He laughs outloud. “You are the SIXTH deer call today!”
I’m silent. Stupid, Fucking deers. “Yay, me.”
It’s really hard to get this stuff done when these stupid deer keep getting on my mind.
Fuck the deer. Fuck ALL THE DEERS.
I know that somewhere in those woods, that damn female deer just walked up to her stupid deer husband and was all, “I got that Chevy bitch, and I got her good.”
Posted on October 28, 2011, in Fix My Lighthouse, Words and Phrases and tagged Bad luck, Bambi, Car Accident, Car Insurance, Deer, Driving, FML, irony, West BumbleFuck. Bookmark the permalink. 17 Comments.