I took my DS with me to work last night.  I do that a lot, even though I very, very rarely get the chance to actually play it there.  But last night was almost an exception.  Last night, I actually got it out of my bag, and popped Metroid Prime: Pinball in it.  I even powered it up.  And then my cell phone rang.  Figures.  Can't a guy catch a break?

It was my wife, Amanda, on the other end.  She'd gone out late with some co-workers and their friends to have coffee because, according to her, she can't sleep well when I'm at work overnight.  Nothing like a midnight coffee binge to help ease you to sleep, yes?  I'll never figure women out.

Anyway, my game was still on the main menu when the call came through, so I wasn't that upset that she was interrupting this rare chance to goof off at work.  Good thing, too, because this would have been a bad night to give an exasperrated "Helloo?!"

When her voice came through, she sounded antsy, but I didn't say anything (figured it was the 100,000 cc's of caffeine coursing through her tiny body).  It wasn't a caffeine-and-sugar rush though.  It was worse.  This is what you would have heard if you were sitting in the room with me:

"Hey Boo, wha' sup?"

"Are you serious?"

"Where?"

"Are you okay?"

"...how's the car?"

"...great."

Then from one of the guys in the room with me: "That dudn't sound good."

"Do you need me to come down there?"

"Alright, just call me when you get home.  Love ya, bye."

There were eyes on me when I hung up.  Eyes that reflected the sentiment of the gossip-seeking ears that they shared heads with.  So I coughed it up.

"My wife. . ."

There was a bit of a pause, maybe three or four seconds long.

". . .hit a h-"

Another pause.

". . .hit a horse. . . with the car."

Imagine the looks that got me.

I answered all the usual questions.  How?  I have no idea.  Yes, she's fine, thanks.  No, the car's jacked up.  But not too bad, it was a baby horse (Amanda kept calling it a baby horse on the phone).  It just smashed the passenger's-side windshield, bumped up the hood, and somehow smashed the side by the gas tank.

One of the guys in charge offered to take me to the scene.  When we arrived, there were police lights flashing, and a semi was pulled over on the side of the road.  Amanda looked fine considering how bad she felt about taking out a "baby horse".  She still couldn't just call it a horse.  In fact, when she walked me over to the car, she pointed out that there were "baby horse guts" on it.  They couldn't just be horse guts, or even just guts, could they?  No, these were sacred, poor little cute sweet innocent baby horsie guts.  Her sensitivity made me laugh on the inside.  I just couldn't help it. 

The semi that was pulled over a hundred yards in front of my car?  It had normal horse guts on it.  Amanda probably wanted to call them "mommy horse guts", but she held back.  Apparently someone's cattle got out of their corrals, and a few animals made their way to the highway.  That's a bummer. 

This all kind of reminds me of those stupid sparrows that like to fly car-height in front of me instead of taking advantage of all that nice, high, safe sky above us.  Animals, eh?

Anyway, things are fine.  The man whose cattle got out is going to have to pay for my car, as well as the semi.  Best wishes to him during the holidays, and I mean that sincerely.  But I just can't afford to pay for this myself, nor should I have to.

If you read this, please take a moment to check out Amanda's blog too.  She feels awful about "what she did to that baby horse", so I'm sure she'd love the support and feedback.

...Don't think for a second there won't be "horsie" jokes once she's not so sensitive.  By Sunday, I'll be telling her to "quit horsin' around", and to "hold her horses".  Ha!  Good times.