So, I have this intense guilt complex, right? Always have and probably always will (for someone who has not been raised Catholic, I certainly seemed to have mastered the guilt). All it takes is a cop to walk into a store that I’m shopping in for me to worry that he’s (or she) is going to arrest me. For what? I don’t know. Reckless use of the color pink?
Today, I took the kidlets to Portillo’s for lunch, and on the way out, I either bumped the curb or tapped the car next to me, and it’s killing me because I don’t know if I did damage. I didn’t realize that I may have given the car next to me a Love Tap until I got home and realized that I have a scuff on the bumper of my car THAT COULD HAVE BEEN THERE BEFORE.
I don’t give much of a shit about my car and I have always assumed that one of the parts of having a car means that you get the inevitable scratch in a parking lot, ding on the door, or Love Bump scuff. Not a big deal.
But now I’m freaking out. Freaking the fuck out. Because what if I left the scene of an accident and someone took my plates down and then the cops will show up and arrest me in front of my weeping children and then I will go to federal pound you in the ass prison.
Help! This is Aunt Becky tapping out an SOS.
What do I do?