Carl Coleman was driving to work one
morning
when he bumped fenders with another
motorist.
Both cars stopped, and the woman driving
the
other car got out to survey the
damage.
She was distraught. It was her fault,
she
admitted, and hers was a new
car,
less than two days from the
showroom.
She dreaded facing her husband.
Coleman was sympathetic, but he had
to
pursue the exchange of license and registration
data.
She reached into her glove
compartment
to retrieve the documents in an
envelope.
On the first paper to tumble out,
written in her husband's distinctive
hand,
were these words:
"In case of accident, remember,
Honey,
it's you I love, not the
car."
