Well, not exactly. More like ripped from my trousers.
I got hit by a car this morning. Not incredibly hard, fortunately, but hard enough to knock me down, tear my pants, and give me a handful of marks that I imagine will be big ol' bruises by this afternoon. I anticipate some quality ibuprofen time tonight. (Update at 9 p.m.: oh hell yes, I am a big bruise - swollen, sore, and slow-moving. My left leg has these huge purple/red welts and my right wrist hurts like a sonufabitch.)
A chick in in a bronze-colored Murano backed into me as I was walking to work from my parking garage. Apparently she'd changed her mind about where she wanted to park, which would have been fine had she been paying attention and had not been on her damn cell phone. She just hit the gas and then whacked me with the back passenger side of her car. As I went down, I grabbed her rear window windshield wiper.
She no longer has a rear window windshield wiper.
I don't feel too bad about that.
The best part? She never got off the phone, even after she hit me. She got out of the SUV, phone still up to her ear and said, "You alright?"
I have her information. I've called the police. I have witnesses.
And she's an idiot.
People - if you use your cell phone in the car without a hands-free option, here's my message to you: DON'T DO IT. This chickie wasn't paying attention, and I got smacked flat on my back. If she'd hit me any harder, I think I'd be in the hospital tonight. I was lucky. Fortunately, she only caught me with the corner of her car, and I have a big rump to cushion a fall. (Although, I also have a bad back, so we'll see how that goes.)
I had not planned on sitting in my locked office at 9:30 a.m., sans pantalon, patching up my trousers with a borrowed sewing kit.
Of course, no one plans on being struck by an idiot at 9 in the morning. But I'm proof it happens.