I'm fine. I wasn't even in the car when it happened.

I find it somewhat hysterical that even the guy who backed into the side of my car feels the need to tell me he likes my bumper stickers. Just last night, the guy who parked next to me at the ShopRite voiced his endorsement, and then this morning I go out to find hugoid dents in the driver's side doors of my car (surprisingly and thankfully, he left a note with not one but two phone numbers, which seemed promising). And then when I called to get info, he said he liked my bumper stickers, amongst the it-was-an-accident type statements.

And hey, for once it is not my fault and no curbs were harmed.

I'm starting to think my car is cursed, though.

Please note that my amusement has a slight tinge of hysteria

I have a fictional life wherein I am 26 years old and staying overnight at my boyfriend's apartment.

He asks me how old I am, and as usually happens when someone asks me how old I am, my mind goes completely blank, and I have to guess. I guessed 26. Then, since I have to explain that the car and insurance and stuff are in my Dad's name and at PUs' PA address, he asks if I'm staying with my boyfriend (at the NJ apartment).
My response? "I... visit."

Thankfully, I managed to hold off on the hysterical laughter until after I had hung up the phone.