Dear curb: You're a jerk!

Dear curb that, like, totally messed up the front end of my car,
Seriously, curb, what was that about? I wasn't bothering you. I would have been perfectly happy never coming into contact with you. All I wanted to do was take a picture and get to work so I could finish laying out the paper.
But you couldn't let me do that, could you? For whatever reason, you needed to mess up my poor car's undercarriage. You had to jam my front wheel all the way back into the back of the wheel well.
Way to go, tough guy. Everybody's real impressed.
Do you know what you did to me? I had to wait almost an hour for a tow truck. It cost me $90 to get towed to a repair shop. And getting the car fixed? Near as I can figure the estimate's somewhere over two grand now.
That's not even all. My mom was out of town while my car was in the shop, so I figured I'd borrow her car and save on a rental. Except, her car started acting up on me mid-week. It stalled. It hesitated. Sometimes, I'd step on the gas and get no acceleration. Nothin'. I wasn't sure I was going to make it through the week.
So, yeah. Thanks a lot.
Jerk.
What did I ever do to you, curb? I've always had all kinds of respect for concrete. I use sidewalks every day. And when I was younger, concrete always did an admirable job holding my basketball poles upright. It's one of my favorite construction materials, right after steel and plexiglass and just ahead of fiberboard. That ain't bad. You're way better than aluminum siding.
I like you, curb. You do a good job of defining the edge of the street. So how about returning the favor, huh? You had to mangle my wheel like that? You couldn't just boost me up and over yourself? Apparently not. Apparently that's too much to ask. So now I have a repaired front end and the only thing you ended up with was a little scuff where my tire hit you. It's probably even washed away by now.
I suppose you'll try to blame all this on the ice. And sure, it was slippery. But I didn't have any problems until I ran into you. Ice and I are close, curb. Ice and I understand each other. Ice keeps my drinks cold and I don't mess with ice. I don't drill holes in ice to fish anymore (not a big sacrifice, I'll admit) and I've pretty much given up skating. Me and ice, we're cool, so stop trying to badmouth ice.
It sure as heck wasn't my fault. Like I'd do that to my own car? I'm still paying for it, man. I was driving safely, curb. Get over it.
This isn't the first time I've had a run-in with your kind, curb. I was a junior in high school, an exchange student in Sweden, when I tried to jump my bike from the street to the sidewalk, up and over one of your foreign brothers. I admit it was a bad idea, but did it have to take me down like that? I got scraped up pretty good.
More recently, I was riding across the Stone Arch Bridge in Minneapolis a few years ago when a little lip at the edge of the bike path took me out. I ended up hanging by one arm from the railing. I could have gone over. I could have been seriously hurt, curb. As it was I got bruised all up and down my right side.
I know that little lip wasn't really a curb, curb. But it's close enough. It's the same obnoxious family.
I don't know why you did what you did, curb. Did it make you feel tough? Do you feel like a big curb now? Well, good for you. I'm sure you spent the rest of the week bragging to all your curb friends.
I hope it was worth it, curb. Because you and me, we're through.
Yours,
Nathan Hansen