Open Letter to the Deer That Got Hit With My Car

Mr. Deer,

Oh my god. Are you OK? You can't possibly be OK. We collided pretty hard, so much so that part of your antler broke off and for one flashing moment I thought your antlers were going to come through the windshield and kill me, Final Destination style. By the time I pulled over and was able to get out of the car (a feat, let me tell you), you had vanished. I can only assume you managed to hobble to the woods.

Mr. Deer, what the fuck were you doing? Technically, I didn't hit you, you hit me. You slammed into my driver's side door, full speed, liker a battering ram. When I called the Scotsman, shaky and on the verge of tears, he explained that it's your "running season," when you're mating and generally being lunatics. I can only assume you were chasing some sweet-ass doe in the hopes of boning. Sorry me and my car were cock blockers.

I am fine, in case you were wondering. I mean, I'm pretty shook up and I'm feeling a little sore today from being jostled around. But other than that, I'm fine. What is not fine is my car. You totally jacked the driver's side door; I can't even open it. My bumper, hood, and the area by my wheel is dent city. My driver's side headlight? Shattered. My thoughts on this are as follows: Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. Fuuuuuuuck. Because now words like "claims adjuster," and "deductible" have entered into my vocabulary, and to tell the truth, even though I hold two degrees, I understand nothing about insurance. At all. And am pretty dumb, in general, when it comes to cars. I had also just been bragging to my aunt about what good condition Albus was in, and how I was going to ride in him as long as possible.

Now however, you may have foisted a decision-making process onto me. Namely if I should get Albus fixed ($$$), Not get Albus fixed and just tool around in a ghetto car for as long as possible (lame), or pony up and buy a new car with money I don't have. In any event, Mr. Deer, you've provided me with a lot of stress in these pre-Thanksgiving days.

I feel bad about you, though. Blame it on seeing Bambi one too many times as a kid, but I feel immense guilt from last night's collision. Even though I know there was no way I could have avoided you, was unfamiliar with the roads in Jersey, and was driving the speed limit. I keep imagining you limping through the woods, hobbling on broken legs, blood trickling, uneven antlers askew.

Last night, I dreamt of you.

Troubled,

Katie