I hate rude awakenings. I really do. And the older I get, the more rude these awakenings can be.
The first bad awakening I had after I entered my 80s was a glimpse of a short white-haired lady pushing a little cart with a seat reflected in the window of a grocery store.
I looked in front of me and then looked behind me until I realized that old lady was me.
A few days ago, reality struck again.
It happened like this.
On Wednesday evening, I was pleasantly tired after a very busy day at work. After I ate dinner I was ready to put on my pajamas, snuggle under an afghan and watch Netflix for a few hours until my son Jeff came home from work at 11 p.m.
I watched TV a little and snoozed a little until a loud knock on the front door had me wide awake with my heart pounding.
I knew of no good reason why someone would be knocking on my door this time of night.
And, yes, I am a scaredy cat as we used to say when I was a child. Bumps in the middle of the night have me trembling and frightened.
This knock on the door did just that.
I opened the door just a crack and saw a dark-haired man standing there.
He asked me to walk outside as he had something to show me.
I slammed the door and locked it. Then I heard him say that he had hit my car and I needed to look at it.
I told him I had family coming over and that I would come out when they got here.
He knocked two more times while I called my family and the police.
I watch enough true crime TV to know that bad things can happen to women who open the door in the middle of the night.
I waited until a couple of police cars pulled up outside my house, then I went outside and took a look at my car.
My poor little Kia Soul had been knocked sideways by a huge Dodge pickup that had turned the curve too fast and ended up in my front yard.
My little hamster was damaged, but the dark-haired man who drove the pickup was very nice and he did not hit my little car and run away without reporting it as some might have done.
The accident was not my rude awakening. It was what I heard him say to the officer as I came down the steps to look at my car.
I only heard a fragment of the sentence and it went like this, “...and I could see that she was old and I had scared her.”
I clenched my teeth and made it through the interview with the policeman who was very nice to this “old” lady.
The next day I spent talking with insurance people and picking up a rental instead of relaxing on my day off.
The whole episode could have been much worse, but I assure you the next time someone knocks on my door in the middle of the night, this granny will be standing with the door wide open and the intruder will see a lady standing with an aluminum baseball bat in her hand. The furthest thing from his mind will be the phrase, “scared old lady.”