I'm not a bad driver because I'm a woman, you sexist. It's because my boobs get in the way.

In my memory trunk, I found a bra. White, J Crew, plain, and cut in half. 

I pulled it out of the trunk (just the one half, a cup and a strap) with my thumb and index finger and held it dangling in front of my eyes, as I wondered if maybe I was insane. Is this how hoarders and bag ladies start out? What is wrong with me that I feel the need to save such things?

It's a relic from a car accident, my worst one to date, in which the paramedics had to cut my clothes off. Actually, they didn't *have* to cut my clothes off, I think they were just being kind of dramatic. The bra was a front opening one, so...come on, Mr. Scissors Guy, settle down. Luckily I was able to save my giant silky blue Wonder Womanish panties, by yelling "Don't cut my panties!! DON'T CUT MY PANTIES!!" to which Mr. Scissors Guy responded by giving me the "I give up" hands and leaving. 

And oh hey, also in the trunk...giant blue Wonder Womanish panties. Nice. 

Some bent and gnarled miscellaneous car parts as well. I think those were from a different accident though, one in which I remained conscious throughout and was able to collect souvenirs from the crash. Also, three identical side view mirrors and a car antenna. I'm like a twisted serial killer who saves the teeth and hair of his victims. I shall never forget you, my pretties.

From what I can remember... 

Side mirror 1: Knocked off against the sliding drawer at a drive-through bank teller's window. That drawer came out of nowhere, I'm telling you. It was all Pew! and I was all Whaaa? and then my mirror just barely kissed the drawer (ting!) and it was all "Craaackk!", and that's pretty much verbatim how I told it to the bank manager. I remember the look on the teller's face when I told her I didn't even have an account there, I was just making a U-turn (why else would I have been going backwards, duh!), and a little WD40 and duct tape and maybe put some muscle into it and that should fix that drawer right up.

Side mirror 2: The first day I ever backed out of my driveway on my way to high school. So proud, so independent, wave to mom and dad, "Bye mom and dad!", aaaand crunch. I managed to put the car in park before I launched myself out of the driver's seat and fled upstairs where I could demonstrate by way of dramatic flinging of self onto bed exactly how upset I was by this. Then I drove to school anyway, side mirror buckled into in the passenger seat, because I'm a survivor. Then I took a Trig test and failed it, maybe on purpose. The failing was to prove a point. To whom? To God, that's who. Take that, God. I sure taught Him a lesson. (A very convenient lesson, as I didn't know the material.)

Side mirror 3: I have no idea. I remember there was a very loud CRANGK! and all of a sudden there was my mirror hanging by cables, thumping against my car door. I hope I didn't hit a pedestrian. I still wonder about that one.

Antenna and license plate: I didn't mention the license plate before because I was embarrassed. That's too much wreckage, I think, and I didn't want you to think me a bad driver. These two came from the time I was driving carpool to high school and ran a yellowish red, let's say orange light. The bowl of Cheerios I was holding at the time flipped up when my airbag released, and landed on the head of the 7th grader in the passenger seat. When the smoke cleared, I leaned over to check on her, felt the soggy Cheerios in her hair, made an on-the-spot medical diagnosis, and screamed "Brains!! Brains coming out!!" I don't remember ever seeing her again after that day. 

Giant street sign: Don't judge! I was only a passenger for this one. High school Kevin, of the "I hope he doesn't finger me" Kevins, decided one late night to close his eyes and put his car in neutral and coast backwards down a steep hill, with the idea that he would ride the curve and drift gently to a stop along the cross street. Instead, he jumped a curb, upturned a US Postal mailbox, knocked over a street sign, and then cried for his mommy (I know, Reow!! Right?). The next day my brother and I hiked down to retrieve the sign, to mount on my wall like a trophy. Cause, you know, I didn't play any sports or anything. It's like a trophy for apathy and bad decisions. Count it.

Birdseye view of the scene, if the bird were on peyote

I don't have a trophy from the night I forgot I was drunk and tried to drive home but went forward instead of backward and drove over a parking curb with a metal spike sticking out and popped my tire. Boyfriend jacked it up and changed the tire while I sat in the driver's seat and pretended I was driving a lowrider with hydraulics. Look at me!! I'm a rapper!! *Flat hand arm wave out window, as seen on Yo MTV Raps*

I think that's it. A couple other parts from cars that weren't mine, but I think the parts belong to me because the rule says if you knock it off, it's yours. (In "legalese" for you professionals out there: If you hit it, you git it.) It's like that one about "You break it, you buy it" only without the buying and it's usually a secret because it happens at night and nobody saw you. It's also like that "If a tree falls in the forest and nobody's around, does it make a sound?" only it's more like "If my car barely bonks your car and a piece falls off and nobody's around, did it even happen?" It's really a philosophical question, I'm not going to get into it right now. But the answer is no, it didn't.