Bambi, or his son, or his grandson, or his great-great-great-grandson or whoever the bleep that stupid deer was, tried to ruin my trip to Australia. He came at me, with murder in his eyes, determined to stop me at all costs while I was driving 40 miles per hour in rush hour traffic on a two lane busy highway with oncoming traffic whizzing by inches from my door.
One second I was thinking about the nice hot tea I’d be making in a few minutes and the next BAM! I saw a deer face pressed hard against the passenger side window, rolling his eyes, his antlers curving around the front of the windshield making a “scritchy scritch squeeeeeeak” noise, and then he was gone. He was huge and hit me hard and I am really thankful for all those hours I spent playing video games as a kid because my reflexes were spot on. My heart rate slowed and time became molasses as I gripped the wheel and leaned towards the danger, instinctively knowing that otherwise my trajectory would be shifted ever so slightly and I’d end up in front of the Dodge truck roaring towards me in the oncoming lane.
It was like those movie chase scenes where the bad guys and the good guys are zooming down the freeway side by side, trying to push each other’s car off the road where they would perish in a fiery wreck. Only in my case it was a goggle-eyed buck, who had mistaken my silver Prius for some sort of cosmic wormhole through which he figured he could gracefully leap and land in a far off nebula filled with butterflies and fertile doe deers.
After that one hot moment had passed, I pulled over into a driveway and got out to inspect my car. Looking behind me down the road, I saw no sign of the stupid deer. (Henceforth I will forever refer to deer with the proper scientific term, “Stupid Deer.” The stupid deer had ran away, or limped away, or whatever. Stupid deer.
As I walked around to the other side of the car I was thinking, “Hey maybe he just banged into me and bounced off! Maybe I won’t even be able to tell where he hit! These modern cars have that newfangled plastic body that doesn’t even dent, right?”
Wrong. Sean’s car was toast. I couldn’t believe the damage. Every panel along the passenger side of the car was dented and mangled. There was hair sticking out of crevices, blood spatters and even big wet smears on the window where the deer had pressed his stupid eye and stupid nose against the glass as he leered at me.
My mind immediately started tallying each panel and the thousands this would cost in repair costs – and then I stopped that thought train right in its tracks as I suddenly realized how lucky I was. A split second earlier and the stupid deer would have been in front of me, I’d have an airbag in my face and maybe an antler or three speared through my chest, and that Dodge truck in the oncoming lane would have mowed me down. Or another split second earlier the stupid deer would have bashed into the granny driving the Cadillac in front of me, she would have swerved all over the road and the Dodge truck would have mowed me down. Really, the stupid deer chose well. I stayed straight and leaned in and guided my Prius to a soft landing.
So fuck you, stupid deer. I hope you die horribly while buzzards peck out your eyes. (That’s actually a common scenario here in Texas, buzzards are all over the place patiently waiting for carnage to happen. I see them pecking out all sorts of eyes.)
I’m just seriously glad to be alive, instead of dead or in a hospital with a neck brace – partly because I want to live and I prefer not to endure chronic pain, but also because I’m leaving for Australia in four days and NOTHING, by golly, NOTHING not even a homicidal maniac stupid deer will stop me from getting on that Air New Zealand plane.
I can’t wait! Life is grand! I’m a lucky, lucky lady. #GoAustralia!