'Hate's my middle name,' I thought as I drove down the freeway. Threatening to change lanes, I glanced in the rear-view mirror for the second time, to make sure that the green Jeep wasn't following me. Down the road, I slowed down just enough to make the Jeep pass me. Just for fun, I inched over and passed him going the other way.
'That guy has it coming now,' I thought. I knew he would do the same to me. I was the Queen Bee, and nobody was going to out-manuever me on the road.
Three minutes later, we came to a decorated exit.
"Shit," I thought, as I realized I had lost him. The traffic light ahead was green, but so was the one coming from the other side. Maybe he would go off the road to the right and I could cut off the traffic and get back on the original track before anything happened.
I switched off my music player and waited. The guy in the green Jeep didn't even show up in my mirrors. Just as the twelfth second rolled by, the green Jeep crashed into me with full force, my car skidding into a telegraph pole.
"Bastard," I yelled when I realized the role reversal was complete. I had been the one to get outmaneuvered.
At the crash site, I refused the offer of help from the absolute hot guy who got out of the Jeep with a charismatic smile plastered on his face.
"Are you all right!?" he asked.
I could fall for this guy, I thought. He really seemed to care.
"Yeah, just punch him, Chris," a voice said.
'What the hell?' I thought. 'Did I say that aloud?'
As I glanced around, it was clear that no one else had heard me except the hot guy. He smiled to me again and held out his hand.
Oh God, 'I want him to take me in his arms.' I completely lost it. Was I going to begin throwing out my "woe is me" whining, right there in the street?
Without a word, I climbed into his Jeep, where I was led to a rundown house. Instead of sleeping in a clean bed, I found myself on the floor in a filthy basement, with a dazed and hungover Christopher hovering over me.
"Why are you so hungover?" I asked.
"I can't remember," he said. "I used to be hungover all the time. Before I got married, that is."
"Seems like you tried to get married before," I said. "To why?"
"Like I should tell you? I'm married to my job," he said. "My wife left me."
"What was her name?" I asked.
"Provolone," he said. "She always eats those floppy, greasy sandwiches from Subway. And the yogurt?"
"Yeah, I know it," I said, remembering one time when I ate half a boxwalked into Subway and bought a twelve-inch sub, only to find out that it wasn't even gluten free."
"That's what she says," Christopher said. "I think it's all fat. Looks like cottage cheese sitting in a Tupperware bowl. She puts on the music and dances around, she's brushing me off like crazy. I was driving down the freeway waiting to get hit, and I really really really did get hit."
"Where were you going when this happened?" I asked.
"Trying to get to work, maybe," he said.
"Together?" I asked.
"Yeah, you're right," he said. "I didn't have anyone to go with me."
"How long have you been married?" I asked.
"Six months," he said. "It was the best six months of my life. She could be understanding and helpful. I could go out and get drunk without anyone asking a lot of questions. So now? I'm glad she's gone."
"You're crazy," I said. "I can't believe that! That the first thing you thought. It really shows how far you've come since you got married. It shows how mature your decision was."
"Well, I told her about it," he said. "And she died."
src