I seem to be saying that word a lot lately.
"Whoops, I dropped that on the floor. Can you pick it up?" (usually some bottle of sorts in the bathroom while getting ready)
"Whoops, I spilled watermelon all over the place. Can you clean it up?" (we've been eating a LOT of watermelon, and I'm the slicer)
"Whoops, I forgot." (so not like me)
"Whoops, I hit your car."
Yea, the last one was the worst.
One night a week or so ago, I was driving Caleb's car home. The only reason I had his car was because he was being super awesome and taking mine to Sam's to fill it up with cheap gas. It's a tank and drinks gas so we pinch a penny when we can.
As I pulled into the garage, his fancy car made its usual "beep" noise when the sensor got close to something (i.e. my car). It usually becomes a constant BEEEEEEP when it's getting really close. (That's when I slow down.) Unless, apparently, you have already HIT something causing the sensor to fall out. Then you don't get that constant BEEEEEP. Whoops.
I hit MY car with HIS car. My tank was tough as nails and only has a few scratches. Caleb's little whimpy car was left with this ding:
On the bright side, his car had just had some extensive damage from a recent hail storm and already had an appointment at the repair shop. I was just trying to give them a little extra business while they had it. That's all ; )
I gave Caleb a few minutes to cool off, because we know all men have an attachment to their car. I reminded him that it could have been a lot worse, and at least Wilson and I were okay.
Eventually we laughed about it. Honestly, I'm surprised it took me this long (3 1/2 years of marriage) for me to hit one of our cars in the driveway.
So we should have his car back next week, good as new.