Three weeks ago, I decided to trade in the ol’ Toyota Echo for something a little more… ahem… manly. The Echo was a great car; it used almost zero gas and seemed virtually indestructible. Maintenance costs were limited to oil changes. Unfortunately, it also looked like a squished up baby buggy and had these ridiculously tiny tires that made driving in winter a bit of an adventure.

So enter the 2006 VW Jetta, a car I’d been eying for over a year. I love driving it, and I love the feel and consideration of the German-engineered dash. Apparently, though, I aggrieved the new car gods with my sinful pride, and punishment was swift.

On Saturday, while helping my friend Guy move, a girl backed into it with her SUV, crunching the tail light and denting the bumper and corner panel. I heard it unfold from the comfort of his back deck, and fortunately was able to get her insurance information. Damage was light but I’m sure the repair costs will be expensive, given the bodywork that will be required.

My pride had not been abated. I would look at the car out of the corner of my eye and think “Isn’t that lovely. And it’s mine.” So yesterday, while parked in the parkade beneath my office building, the CEO’s wife decided to back into my driver door with her SUV. Helloooooo, Christmas bonus.

That’s right. 5 Days. 2 reversing SUVs. 2 insurance claims. 3 dented panels. 1 busted tail light. 1 sad Ben.

At least I wasn’t in the vehicle either time.