When a car accident turns into an argument about parts of speech

"How was your day?" I casually asked my husband. A question I ask every day. "Fine," came his usual non-committal answer on the phone. When he picked me up later, I hurried to the van, the bitter wind rushing me along so I didn't notice anything until I was seated, wrestling with my seat-belt and wondering why Brad had hung ugly curtains in his vehicle.

"Did the airbags deploy?" I asked, staring as I took in the interior of the van, my eyes sweeping the dashboard coated in powder. I glared at Brad, taking a quick inventory of the man who had said his day was "fine." I'd hate to see an "okay" day. For goodness sake, I refuse to even consider what a "bad" day for Brad Mosiman looks like.

I leaped out and inspected the crumpled passenger side of the van. "Was everyone alright?" I asked. Brad shrugged, working to get my seat-belt fastened around me. "What about the other driver?" I persisted. "They drove off," Brad explained. I was furious! It was High Pony-Tail Girl all over again! I peppered Brad with questions. "Was the driver male or female? Did you get a make and model on the type of vehicle they were driving? What about a license plate number? A picture! Did you take a picture?!?" Justice...surely...would be done! Brad sighed. "All I saw were the air bags," he said. I paused. "What about surveillance cameras at the intersection? What about witnesses?" "Nobody stopped," Brad told me, "And once the police are all caught up on their current cases of burglary, assaults, drug busts, and such...I'm sure they'll start combing through grainy surveillance images to catch the culprit of this non-injurious hit-and-run."

I was fuming. What is WRONG with humanity? That driver didn't know that my husband wasn't hurt (or worse). To just drive away...to avoid cost...a ticket...any sense of moral accountability???

I called our daughters. "Did you hear about Daddy's t-bone?" I asked. I couldn't hear their response over Brad's laughter. "Isn't that what it's called?" I wondered, confused. Brad was incapable of maturely articulating an answer so Sydney reassured me that the term t-bone was accurate...just not accurately applied. I was not currently in the mood for a parts of speech meat lesson as my beloved had almost been de-boned in a fender-bender. Brad finally pulled himself together. "You used t-bone as a noun," he began, "whereas in an accident situation, the term is used as a verb." Was this really happening? Was I really sitting in a beat-up van, brushing aside flimsy airbag curtains to be given an ELA lesson? I stared out the window silently for a moment, pausing to thank God that this infuriating man was "fine." Brad nudged me. "So..." he said, smiling, "How was your day?"