Whoops!

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.