The Rest of the Story

Here's a story for your Sunday:

So, I'm riding my bike tonight, it's almost 6:30 p.m. now and I just got back. I'm still in my sweaty clothes, typing.

As I'm coming home, just two blocks from home, I'm in the street and riding about 16 mph. Cars parked on both sides, I'm on the right but in the street next to parked cars.

Ahead is a car coming straight for me, with a girl on a cell phone. I think she'll stop, she doesn't. I stop and almost hit the car. Well, not that close, but on a bike, you know what I mean.

Lo and behold, it's my daughter Shayna in MY car. She calls out "Dad, what are you doing?"

I turn around and pedal to her.

"Shayna, you almost hit me."
"I saw you, dad."
"You could have killed me."
"Dad, what are you doing in the street?"

(Think Lebowski, "his health is bad" scene...)

"Shayna, you almost killed your father! Shayna, you're killing your
father!" (I actually said this, too.)
"Dad, what are you doing in the street. Get out of the street."
"Shayna, you almost hit me. I could be dead."
"Dad, Get out of the street. Why are you in the street?"
"You're killing me. You know that? Shayna, where are you going?"
"Dad, go home" and, as she drives away I hear "and get out of the street!"

She's off and I go home.

Now, the "rest of the story:"

So, why was Shayna on her cell phone when she almost hit me? Because
her mother called her. That's right, I could be dead because my
daughter could have hit me while taking a call from her mother.

My son said to me: "So, if you got hit, you'd have to pay in some way. How's that make you feel?"