Kismet

I needed some things at Safeway, so I asked Flip if he wanted to go with me. He likes beer. Since I do not, I am disinclined to think of buying it. He knows this. He came to the store with me.

When we came out, I heard him say, "We have matching dents."

He was speaking to a woman parked next to us in her black Toyota Camry. Our Camry is white.

I scrutinized her right front fender. Sure enough, there was a dent that was identical to the one on our right front fender, which Flip got at Whole Foods last week.

Whole Foods has a hazardous parking garage with pillars and badly angled spaces.

"I got mine at Whole Foods," said the woman.

"So did I!" exclaimed Flip. "Hit it on a pillar."

"No fucking way," she said. "That's how I got mine."

It was like a negative image, black car next to identical white car. The dents were in exactly the same place.

"I think mine is worse," she said. When you are truly competitive, anything qualifies.

I examined both. They looked like they were mass-produced in a factory. Even the scratches within the dents matched. Two on each. Perfection.

"I think they're the same," said Flip.

She looked at him intently. "Let's get married," she said.

As we pulled out, she called, "Wouldn't it be funny if we ran into each other?"

I laughed. "I hope you don't mean that literally."

"Oh, but I do."

"See you at Whole Foods," I said.