I'd go...

to therapy, but I've learned that my brain doesn't respond. (Don't ask. I won't tell... at least not today.)
This past weekend had a majorly traumatic chapter in the epic novel called My Life.
I'm b-bopping along, singing to the tunes on the radio. Driving to pick up my Girl. It's Friday. Life is good. And then... it wasn't. (I hope you're sitting down.)

You know how back country roads are... 35 mph, if you're lucky, twisty curvy spots that are all closed in by trees and the next bend is never seen. (Oh, how I miss the openness of New Mexico.)
I rounded a corner and noticed a truck pulling out of a driveway. My eyes were on the truck to make sure it was going to stop and I didn't need to brake check my "new to me" little Saturn car. (Insert missing my SUV here.) The truck stopped. The medium sized dog, that I did not see because it was on the other side of the truck, did not stop. I had no time to hit brakes. I whacked that poor baby good. I'm talking, front right passenger side took her out and ran over her with a thump and a bump and a couple of yelps. My tire came up off the road and hit back down so hard that I've been dreaming of that exact moment for the last few days. I fully expected to find a dent in the bumper, blood, dog hair and quite possible an ear stuck in my grill. (Thankfully, I didn't.)

I now know my brakes work well because I came to a sliding stop, barely missed a passing car, yanked up my emergency brake, hit the flashers and jumped out so fast that I thought I would pass out. This is where the actual fun begins.

The truck had pulled out of their drive and parked behind me. People come flying out the truck... Grandmother, Mother, Aunt and 3 kids. The aunt yelled at me: "You couldn't (insert F-bomb) stop for the d@mn dog?!?!".

Mom, Aunt, and shrieking half dressed children go running to the home they lived in because evidently I didn't kill the dog. (How did that happen?) The front door was open, but the dog wasn't in the house. They start ripping the underpinning off their home looking for the dog and yelling "Oreo."

Grandmother gets out of the car and starts talking to me at the driveway. At this point I've dropped to the ground in the middle of the road, because well I just became a dog murderer, was hyperventilating and my adrenaline rush had my entire body shaking so bad that I could barely talk much less think.

Here's the conversation as best I can remember:
Grandmother: "Honey, you need to get out of the road before someone runs you over." She's rubbing my back and arms trying to get me to calm down. (It's a little weird to say the least.)
Me: "I'm going to be sick, I can't breathe, think I may pass out."
Grandmother: "Honey, it's ok. Just move out of the road, please. I know you couldn't stop. It's the kids fault for letting the dogs of their chains. They have no reason to be upset because they have 6 more dogs. Don't worry about it."
Me: "I'm so sorry, I didn't have time to stop. Those poor babies just saw me run over their dog. What do I need to do? I'm so sorry."
Grandmother: "Honey, it's really ok. You need to calm down."

Mom and Aunt start walking back over with the youngest boy. He can't be more than 5. He's wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, his cowboy boots and is carrying a huge bag of potato chips. I couldn't help wonder where his coat was. He gives me a big huge smile and says, "It's ok, really, it's ok."

Then Grandmother looks at the Aunt and tells her she needs to apologize to me for the way she yelled and treated me because I didn't deserve that. AND... the Aunt does. (I think that's when I noticed the Aunt's half grown out bright blue hair and the hot pink streak in the Grandmother's hair. Interesting.) Then she goes off on a tangent about how the dog had really been hers and it's no big deal.

I look at the mom and apologize again because the girl, who is probably 8 or 9, is still in full melt down mode.
Mom says, "Really it's ok. It's the kids fault and they have 6 more."

I asked one more time what I needed to do. Mom said that they think Oreo ran off in to the woods behind the home and mentioned that it probably just had a broken leg or something. Grandmother starts telling the kids to get back in the truck so they could go get PawPaw and eat ice cream.

The Aunt starts rubbing my arm and asks if I've calmed down enough to drive. Then the Aunt looks at the Grandmother and asks her if she felt my coat because it was super soft. The Grandmother says, "Oh yes, it is super soft, I felt it while I was rubbing her back." Then Mom had to feel my coat. I asked ONE MORE time about the dog... needing to find it and take it to the vet. Grandmother looked at me and said, "All you need to do is calm down, drive safe so you don't have an accident, go home and relax."

I'm still shaking when I drive away. I still can't help but think (excuse the language), "WHO THE HELL ARE THESE PEOPLE?!?! I just ran over one of your dogs! You blamed the kids when you are the adult! AND to top it off your feeling up my brown micro-suede pea coat!!!

What is this world coming to? I can embrace the weirdness in people, because it's what makes us unique, but these people were a little too much for me. That's saying a lot.

On a happy note... I was carded for a six-pack of Angry Orchard. The gal said I wear '78 well. (There's the silver lining to Friday.) Now I'm worn out from re-living Friday, so I will post my stitching progress later today.