A Hell of a Birthday

It was my 18th birthday and I was racing my best friend Roger to the local train station
to pick up my girlfriend who was coming to spend the day with us.
Roger knew how to race. He also knew about cars and his Ford had a supped-up engine
and was very, very fast. I was driving my mum’s car. Despite being slow, I was doing a
pretty good job of pushing the engine to its absolute limits.
I was actually in front of Roger as a car pulled out of a side turning and stopped in front
of me. There was no way I was going to brake in time. With a sickening crash I hit the
car from behind and my body shot up to the roof of the car. Luckily, I was wearing a
seatbelt, but I still managed to smash my head against the side window.
Roger skidded to a halt within a hair’s breadth of my back bumper. I knew I was to blame,
but I said nothing as I got out of the car and approached the car in front. The driver was
ok, although not too happy. We exchanged details and decided to let the insurance
company sort it out.
We left mum’s poor, smashed up mini by the side of the road and picked up Emma from
the station. By the time we had arrived home, my parents knew something was wrong.
“Sorry mum”, I said, apologetically, “I’ve had an accident in your car.” Luckily, they were
so relieved to see that we were not hurt that they weren’t angry about the damage to my
mum’s car. What a way to spend a birthday!

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