Crash into me

Jules was in town this weekend. It was a quick trip, but long enough for our annual Nutcracker excursion, White Christmas viewing whilst drinking large quantities of tea, and some Christmas shopping. We had a great weekend, save for one tragic occurence:

???

What's that, you ask?  Let's take a closer look.

WTF?

Why yes, that is the driver's side mirror on Lola (my car), or rather it WAS the driver's side mirror before someone unceremoniously smashed into it, leaving 1) the casing and mirror shattered on the pavement and 2) me extremely pissed off. Jules and I were eating dinner Saturday night, and Lola was parked--legally and NOT AT ALL STICKING OUT INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC--on a residential street near Dupont Circle. We returned to the car, sated and happy after having spent a lot of money on new shoes (Jules) and having enjoyed delicious gyros (both of us), only to find the aforementioned crime scene.  And, naturally, no note from the offender.  

(Dad: "Where did it happen?" 

Me: "On a side street right next to the Quaker meeting house."

Dad: "Ah, so they were quiet about it.")

So anyway, that was a tremendous bummer. We drove Lola home, very carefully.  (Seriously, do you realize how much we look in our mirrors as we drive? I didn't, until suddenly one wasn't there and I couldn't stop looking at it.) The problem, of course, is that I had to drive Jules to the airport on Sunday, which I certainly wasn't going to attempt sans mirror. 

That's how we wound up in the makeup aisle at CVS, comparing various cosmetic mirrors. ("Well, this one says it's good for travel," I pointed out.) And then, this happened:

Packing tape. Mirror.

We taped the s*** out of that thing.

Success!

Rear view

Is that not the most ghetto thing you've ever seen? Whatever. We made it to the airport unscathed, and then home again. MacGyver, eat your heart out.