So I think it's the height of ironic that on my way home from saving the lives tonight, I almost took someone's, instead.
I drive through a small town on my way home from the hospital at 11 o'clock each night. The main drag has a popular storefront bar with parking across the road, and after 10 or 15 beers, the rules of careful road crossing get a little vague for the patrons.
And I know this. This is NOT my first Saturday night driving past Fuzzy's Bar, so I'm careful. But tonight's drunk was sort of deceptive. She looked like she was making good progress across the street towards the bar...until she fell to one knee in front of my truck.
Lucky for her one of us was sober, because after standing on my brakes and making a satisfyingly scary squealing noise that I hope will haunt her dreams tonight, I managed to stop before my bumper made contact with her skull...not that she'd have actually felt it. But I would have had to spend half the night filling out forms at the County Sheriff's office and probably wouldn't have gotten home in time for coconut cream pie.
So, I'm once again struck by my sainthood. Not only did I save the lives of all the poor innocents in the ER, but I saved the nice intoxicated woman laying down to rest in the road.
St. Evie of the Lab. I wonder if I can get an icon of that? Maybe a beatific woman holding a serial pipetter in one hand and a piece of pie in the other?