This morning Otto became part of a little pinball game on I-95 South in Darien. Out of nowhere a black, round, bouncing object about the size of my fist came flying at him. Being the aggressive bully boy that he is, he fought off the object and got a little bruised up. His war wounds are three, half-inch deep scratches and a small dent above the wheel well on the right front fender. Otto, of course, wears this with pride, but I, of course, want to cry. My poor baby.
I hate I-95. I hate traffic. I hate road debris.
But I love Otto and he will be in the body shop as soon as possible.