Ah, for those carefree Dingless Days!
The Ding isn't that big, only about 1/4 of an inch long and not deep. After all, that's why it's called a "ding." It's on the left front side panel of the car, and most people couldn't find the Ding unless guided to it by Sacajawea.
But the Ding mocks and haunts me. Day and night it calls out to me :
"DING! DING! DING, PERRY! I am the DING you so carelessly and recklessly put in your almost brand new motor vehicle. Loser, can't you keep anything nice? DING! DING! DING!"
Every morning the Ding greets me as if I were an old friend. Or more likely, an old enemy:
"DING! DING! DING! Good morning, Perry. Hope you haven't forgotten me, your DING! I can't believe you inflicted me upon your new Camry, the most trusted mid-size in America! DING! DING! DING!"
As I drive away from my home, the Ding does not let up. It holds forth with a glowing account of my complete and total driving ineptitude:
"DING! DING! DING! Hello, Delaware Valley Drivers, one and all! I am the DING that the hapless driver behind the wheel imposed upon this virtually new but ill-fated Camry. Avoid this idiot if you value your lives! DING! DING! DING!"
Now the Ding is intensifying, throbbing, growing ... it is two inches long and deep as a ditch ... three inches long and deeper than a crater ... 110 inches long and the Grand Canyon!!! And now it resounds with a new voice, as though it is a schoolteacher on meth ringing the bell to call very tardy fifth graders to class:
"DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!
Loser, Idiot, Douche Bag!
DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG! "
I round a corner trying to flee but it is no use. I still hear the hideous Dinging of The Tell-Tale Ding!
"DING! DING! DING! A new Hyundai and you, young lady, smash the hell out of the left side door panel! You don't deserve the second most trusted mid-size in America! DING! DING! DING!"
Why, that wasn't for me .... no, coming my way is a light blue Sonata with a small ding in the side, being driven by a nervous looking young woman.
"DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!" cries my Ding.
"DING! DING! DING!" screams hers.
I wipe my brow and muster a smile, and she looks over and smiles back. And suddenly all is silent.
"Guess you and I need to fix these dings ASAP," I call to her.
"Maybe better we fix our heads first," she calls back.
I am not alone, and neither is she. We are brothers.
Brothers Under the Ding.
Ah, my poor shiny red Hyundai Elantra wagon, with the ding on the hood. I've been wearing my badge of shame for months. Time to get it fixed! Then the Northern Virginia drivers won't have any warning, bwahaha...
Don't do it, Kathy! You and I can make beautiful Dinging together!
I thought as we neared the end of the story there might be some ding-dong romance come crashing down upon us. You could have compared dings and shared sob stories of near fatal collisions. But no, it was just two teary-eyed, banged up vehicles hunkering down as they passed on the avenue of life.
I might have fuel injected that bit of romance into the piece, Russell, but that would have destroyed all credibility and integrity to the story.
Actually, the young woman made fun of my ding and drove off! Actually, the double entendre in the sentence is upsetting me more than the ding to the car...
Oh, the stories I could tell you about my dings! I'm the town dingbat. Wait.... Let me rephrase that....
Fantasies, mysteries, comedies, recipes
I'll go with your phrasing, it's fine!
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