The concrete guys are here, forming for the slab for the building we're constructing. About lunch time, a passing shower drove them off, but they promised they'd be back after lunch. Both of them are Baptist ministers, so I trust them. They'll be back after the rain passes. The form is looking good, and we have a footing inspection scheduled for tomorrow morning, hopefully we can pour the slab right after the inspection. But, we're on God's time and we can only do what He wills
About 1:00, I heard a knock on the door. A neighbor lady, soft-spoken, well dressed, informed me that she had just knocked over my mailbox. She got distracted and the car wandered. I went out to inspect it, and sure enough, she got it. I stood it back up, tamped the soil around the post with my hell, and pronounced it good. No harm, no foul.
"Okay," she says, "but look what it did to my car."
So, I walk over to the car. Front right fender dented, long scratch down the side of an otherwise nondescript little four-door sedan. When I looked back at her, she said that she guessed she'd have to find a shop to fix it, and I detected what we in law-enforcement describe as "an odor of an alcoholic beverage".
But, who am I to judge. Probably a lunch with friends, and she didn't appear unsteady oh her feet. She was almost home, on a quiet suburban street. She'll make it home just fine.