My heart dropped when I answered the phone and my 19-year-old daughter was crying.
"What the hell is wrong with people and I was just walking in the parking lot to my car and some a**hole ran me over and he said 'Are you all right?' and I said 'WTF!!!' and I can't believe this and my hand and leg are scraped up..."
Mr. Sensitive drove off before my daughter could get his license plate number, which means this crappy driver gets away with a Mulligan. Today.
Dear Jackass: You are lucky for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that no one was nearby to witness the incident. You likely avoided any insurance mess and an expensive ticket for careless driving.
But most of all? You avoided having to deal with me. When it comes to my children, I am something like a maniacal, rabid grizzly bear, and my desire to protect my kids from idiots like you is quite strong. Be thankful that I was not there to swing the mighty Louisville Slugger of Justice on your bumper or skull.
My only consolation at the moment is the fact that karma can be one nasty, unforgiving vixen, and I am confident that your reckless driving and your cowardly flight from an accident scene - with an injured young woman lying on the wet pavement - will eventually bite you on the arse. Hard.
In the meantime, may a thousand ticks with communicable diseases attach themselves to your groin, punk.