There's a hole in my bumper, dear Liza, dear Liza

Looking at my poor little car, a bastardized version of the Girl Scout song I learned years ago pops into my head. And just as in the song, straw won't fix it. Nope, it's going to take $1045 to repair it. Ouch!

The old comeback of "but you should see the other guy" doesn't apply here. The truck that hit me has not a scratch on it. His tow hook took the full brunt when it punched the hole in my bumper. I guess the positive side is that since it was his fault (I stopped for the stop sign but he didn't), the repair costs come out of his pocket. Unfortunately, I have to deal with the hassle and what's more, the physical problems of whiplash. Thankfully, it is a mild case but that's bad enough. What really makes me mad is that we had a wonderful weekend for gardening and I couldn't do a danged thing. All I could do was sit in my chair and watch TV between dozing off due to the muscle relaxers the doc prescribed for me. What a waste of glorious weather.

My neck pain is telling me that it's time to sign off - typing hurts, too - and head back to my chair to rest.