Sennan, who was Alison's boss when she worked in a pub in London, taught her a phrase from his Irish youth—he was one of 11 children—that could be used in times of stress without dooming oneself to Hell: "Jesus, Mary, and Tap-Dancing Joseph!" (I've always thought that Sennan taught her that because she was way too fond of using the f-word as a verb and an adjective.)

Now, pretend that you've just heard me yelling Sennan's cuss at the top of my lungs.

My VW Beetle, the only "thing" I've ever really cherished, was rear-ended today by a Ford Explorer. Its forthcoming visit to the body shop will be its third this year: It was hit while parked on our street in Brussels. It was dented during the trip back to the States from Belgium. Now this.

I know that Jesus said, "If you wish to be perfect, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven," but, damnit, I love that little red car, which was bought with some of my inheritance after my Dad collapsed and died from a stroke on my 50th birthday. (Dad worked in the auto industry for most of his life. When I drive the Beetle, I often see him—despite his large size—riding shotgun.)

Dear God, is this latest accident a message that I should just sell the damned car?

JESUS, MARY, AND TAP DANCING JOSEPH!