That dent on the car

My husband – I cringe when I write this – I do – I can barely type the letters. I can’t. I won’t. Let’s just say, car insurance is not something he needs to worry about. There? Get the picture? OK. Before we left for Ireland, my husband was undaunted when our already-been-to-Ireland-friends warned us about the narrow roads and tights curves there. And, he didn’t even flinch when they told us that everyone in their party of 16 who had been behind the wheel ended up with some sort of ding on their vehicle. After traveling for years around the globe, his company had a policy of always declining the rental car insurance option. This was an extra that the company had other means of covering.
But this was not for the company. But I listened. I heeded their warnings. And, as we stood at the rental car counter in Cork, Ireland, I reminded him, to “please sign up for the insurance.”
The roads in Ireland were narrow and quaint. They were lined with trees and shrubbery, and lots of tight curves. Parking spaces were also small and tight. And that’s where it happened. No, not on the highways and byways. Not on the curvy outback roads when we had to pull over to the birm just to keep from getting swiped by a large truck who barely had enough room on the road by itself. No, it was during a parking maneuver. There, in the parking lot, my husband didn’t have enough clearance, and he gashed the passenger door on a rock. But not to worry, right? I mean, we had been warned, and we had the insurance. Right, honey?

Well, I don’t need to tell you, that he did not, in fact, sign up for the insurance.
The looming threat of the mystery amount we would have to pay hung through the back of my mind. As the end of the trip came closer, and the day of returning the car and fessing up to the attendants become immense, the monetary threat grew in my mind. By the time our last night in Ireland arrived, I had worked myself up into a frenzy. And this was the night when we were staying in one of Dublin’s finest hotels. I began to worry about international laws, and if we would be detained, and would be able to live on our already-scheduled flight? What would become of the children? So the moment arrived. One attendant walked around the car, saw the dent, and signaled for the other attendant to have a look. These gentlemen walked to the back, opened the trunk, and pulled out a yellow carbon sheet of paper. On it was a diagram of the car, with an X on it. The words said, “This car has been damaged by previous driver, in several places. Location: Undisclosed.” We were free to go.
I walked on the plane and immediately ordered champagne.
Always get the car insurance when you travel abroad. It’s just not worth the worry.