I got hit by a car last week.
Well, okay, not technically hit by a car. More like the car and I made contact.
Okay, FINE. I hit a car. By walking into it. (This car was in motion at the time. Did I mention that?)
I was waiting for a car to pass before I crossed the street and, just as he passed me, he inexplicably slowed down (maybe it was for a duck that had wandered into the road, maybe not. Maybe we'll never know). And, what do you know, I stepped off the curb just as he slowed down and walked right into the back of his car.
The driver, bless his little heart, jumped out yelling, "Oh my gosh! Are you okay? What happened? Oh my gosh!"
"Uh, well," I mumbled, "I think I might've run into your car."
He stopped short, eyebrows sky-high. "You . . . ran into . . . . my car?"
"Looks that way."
Because, apparently, I am that awesome.