"We never skip church," we rationalized, "and it's a substitute choir director, anyway." Plus, Eric woke up rather later than usual, so we elected not to make mad dashes toward getting ready and out the door. We would take our time and go out for a leisurely lunch.

A few hours later, I found myself standing in the cold at a gas station, saying to Eric, "Well, that's what we get for skipping church," as we stared mournfully at our newly damaged bumper on our newly acquired Saturn. We had been stopped at a traffic light, preparing to turn into the Mexican restaurant for lunch, when a large Chevy truck, painted yellow with red flames, came sliding into us from behind. BAM!

I hate the sound created when car meets car; it always terrifies me with its sudden violence. Worse, I hadn't seen the truck coming, so I was horribly shaken.

As we surveyed the bumper, though, I began to realize just how lucky we were, for had we been driving the old Maxima, the damage would have been significantly greater. As it was, thanks to our plastic, dent-resistant rear, we were looking at only a moderate dent and some paint damage. His truck was unaffected.

We pulled into the gas station across the street, and as Eric got out to talk to the other driver, I ran inside to ask the cashiers to call the police. When I came back out, the guy was trying to convince Eric that things should be worked out "under the table"; as it turned out, the truck he was driving was uninsured. I said, "The ladies in there have already called the cops," letting the assumption stand that they had witnessed the accident and made the call on their own. His shoulders slumped.

I felt a little bad for the guy. He seemed kind of nice; I hated the fact that our insurance agent was probably going to take him to the cleaners. Still, I had already made the decision to involve the cops, and as much as I may hate some of the slimier actions taken by insurance companies, I'm not up to insurance fraud yet. Neither was Eric, thankfully; I was relieved to be in agreement with him.

Anyway, the cop cited the other driver for the accident, but not for driving without insurance; I don't know why he didn't, but I'm sure the guy was greatly relieved to hear of the slight reprieve. And Eric is extremely bummed about the sad-looking bumper, as am I; I have no idea when we're going to find the time to get it fixed, what with the hubby's breakneck work schedule.

Some people say that you can't really enjoy a car until it has its first scratch. I won't say it's not true, but I must say that my enjoyment of the car was significantly lessened during the drive home...

If anybody can tell me where I can get Asterix comic books, I'd be eternally grateful. It's been the first real comic book request I've had at the library, though I'm not certain I'm going to be able to help her out. Do they even come in comic book form, or are they all graphic novels?