That time I got hit by a car.

For absolutely no good reason, I've been a horrible blogger lately. If Santa decided who was naughty and nice by their blogging habits, I would be receiving a lump of coal this year. That would be totally fine with me, as long as 'lump of coal' was actually code for 'Evgeni Malkin covered in nothing but soot.'

I didn't slice any Man Meat because I've been distraught about Crosby's recurring concussion symptoms. I didn't do a Glee-cap because it has been disappointing me so much lately. I haven't blogged about my life because nothing has been happening.

So, I will tell you a story - a story I promised my good friend Julie a long time ago.

As I've mentioned multiple times, I had the extraordinary privilege of attending Miami University for four glorious years. I know I'm biased, but the campus is truly one of the most beautiful in the country. The gorgeous, brick dormitories are surrounded by well-kept grass and enormous, full trees.

Sophomore year, I lived on the third floor of Ogden Hall.



Unlike many other dorms, Ogden didn't have a parking lot. So, during finals, residents would park their cars in the grass to make the moving process easier.

One particularly dreary evening during exam week, I was making my way to Shriver to meet my friends for dinner. There were a few cars parked in the grass and students were darting back and forth through the drizzling rain, carrying boxes and books from the building to their cars. I actually quite liked the feel of the cool rain on my skin and took my time through the grass.

However, as I made my way behind a nearby car, I noticed its red brake lights turn off. Unfortunately, I noticed a little too late and before I could even react, it reversed directly into me, knocking me over onto the grass.

In complete honesty, the next two minutes are pretty hazy. I remember thinking my pants would be muddy. I remember the adrenaline rush as I started to shake. I remember thinking, "No freaking way."

I remember the driver, throwing the car into park, swinging the door open in a frenzy, and dashing out into the rain to my rescue. Then, in another completely bizarre life moment, I noticed that, in her rush to check on me, the driver had spilled an open box of menstrual pads all over the ground.

So, I sat there in complete shock, on the ground in front of my college dorm, covered in rain and wondering three things: 1. Had she really not seen me? I'm pretty hard to miss. 2. What should I do now? and 3. Why did she have an open box of menstrual pads sitting on her lap while she was driving?

As you can imagine, the girl was concerned. Really, really concerned. She apologized profusely and asked repeatedly if I was okay. With adrenaline coursing through me and no apparent pain, I assured her I was and slowly stood up. Then, I resorted to my first line of defense and did what I do best. Not unlike Bernice in Dodgeball, I burst into tears and ran away.



So, there you have it. I can cross being hit by a car off my bucket list. That, of course, implies that being hit by a car was on my bucket list in the first place. It wasn't, but there is one thing I wouldn't mind getting hit by.