My Nerves are Shot! S-H-O-T = SHOT.

So, as I take a neat and tidy turn around a residential area (small streets so slow driving)  on my way home from an errand I see a kid on a bicycle coming at me. He had already crossed the midline and was headed bulls-eye for my car. He was coming fast and by the time I realized he was looking at something in his hand instead of where he was going he was maybe 5-6 feet from my front bumper. The boy was busy looking down at something in his hand and just didn't see me. I honked the horn and the kid dropped what he was holding and swerved away. He missed my by then stationary car by mere inches. Damned punk-ass kid! Sorry, I told you my nerves are shot. He comes around, not a word to me and proceeds to pick up what he dropped. I had presumed it was a can of soda or something. Nope, this what appeared to be a 13 year old,  picked up his cell-phone.  He had been busy typing in his cell phone when he almost ran into my car. Did I mention he came down a hill !!!!!!!????????? Slam dunk case, huh? Not my fault you say. Except, at that time I had dialed a friend (address book one button thing)  shortly before I made that turn. So I am sure this would have all been pinned on me. Never mind that I was on my side of the road.  Never mind, that there was a witness outside the house right by that corner who was watching the whole thing while.... you guessed it, talking on his cell phone.  The fact is, had it not been for my wonderful car horn, the kid would without a doubt have left smear marks all over my already bug splattered windshield. And guess what, my hubby is going out of the country tomorrow morning.

Yeah, nerve assassination attempt #1. Now comes part deux.  Hubby has fish tanks. Lots of fish tanks. I mean a lot!!!! And of course he tries to clean as many as possible today. So his right arm has been giving him problems and he proceeds to carry a cleaned canister filter down the basement stairs.  I suggested he might want to fill the canister filter downstairs since it'll be too heavy to carry. His reply, and I quote: 'What would be the fun in that...' end quote.  So, he picks it up and heads downstairs and  I keep washing fish rocks when I heard an awful loud crashing noise from the stairs. Well, as you can imagine I was h-o-r-r-i-f-i-e-d and screamed and ran. There he was sitting on the bottom of the stairs by the shattered remains of the canister filter and all it's freshly washed contents.  He was OK, though, thank goodness. The canister filter a complete loss. The carpet a mess. But my man was alright, if not a bit rattled.

So, what do a lucky, punk-ass, texting kid and a lucky punk-ass hubby have in common today? They shattered my nerves and live to tell about it....

I am going now to drink a cup of tea and calm my nerves.