There are two sides to every car accident: the tragic reality of the wreckage, and the sudden distractions that make you completely forget who was sitting right next to you.
I was cruising through the scenic mountains of Colorado in my brand-new Bronco when a massive deer leaped directly into my path. I swerved violently, lost control, and plowed straight into a deep ditch, cracking my skull violently against the steering wheel.
Dazed, confused, and bleeding, I managed to crawl out of the crumpled vehicle and pull myself up to the shoulder of the highway.
Moments later, a sleek, shiny convertible screeched to a halt. The driver was an absolutely breathtaking woman wearing a low-cut blouse that left very little to the imagination. She took one look at my bloody forehead and gasped, “Oh my goodness! Get in, my place is just a few miles away. I’ll clean you up and bandage that nasty wound.”
My head was spinning, but I stammered, “That’s incredibly kind of you… but I really don’t think my wife is going to like this.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, you’re in shock,” she insisted, pulling me into the passenger seat.
We arrived at her gorgeous cabin. She gently patched up my cuts, handed me an ice-cold beer, and sat down close to me. After a second beer, the adrenaline started to fade, and a heavy wave of guilt hit me. “Look, you’ve been amazing,” I said, “but my wife is going to be absolutely furious. I really need to leave right now.”
The woman smiled seductively, leaning forward to rest a reassuring hand on my knee. “Relax. Stay for a while. It’s not like she’s ever going to find out. By the way, where even is your wife right now?”
I cracked open a third beer, sighed heavily, and replied:
“Probably still trapped in the wreck.”
