When I finally pull into the garage after spending a day at tennis and whatever else I may have found time to do, there is always a shit load of stuff to haul out of the car. In addition to three tennis bags, a bag of swimming stuff, my gym bag and a cooler, there's usually a couple bags from an errand I miraculously managed to run between lessons, maybe a bag of dog food, an additional cooler containing non-rotting groceries or, on really good days, a case of beer. Let's label all of this crap "B".
Since I'm not a pack mule (or at least I wasn't the last time I checked), it usually takes me at least two trips to get all of this crap into the house, which means that the back door of my minivan gets left open. Let's label the open door "C".
Due to the fact that we kind of loathe a couple people in our cul de sac, we usually hit the button and close the garage door within seconds after getting out of the car. It's our little way of saying "Yes, you saw us come home but no, we don't want to talk to you because you're an annoying prick who insists on using his leaf blower at 9:30 at night." Even if these neighbors aren't home when we get home, it's become a habit to hit the button. Let's label this door shutting habit "D".
My minivan is dark blue. Let's label my minivan "E".
Even though Zach hears what is coming out of my mouth, like "Zach don't shut the garage door because the back door is still open", he doesn't always comprehend what it is that I'm saying. For example, instead of "don't shut the door," he hears me saying "Yes, of course I want you to shut the garage door, drop everything in the laundry room and then disappear to the basement and grab an Xbox controller." Let's label this inability to understand your mom even though she's speaking English "F".
I like vodka, which I will label "V".
So, basically this is what happened: C on E + D + F = Several lines of A on C caused by the metal on the garage door dragging down half of C. I yelled "NO!", Zach yelled "HOLY FREAK OUT I'M SORRY ALREADY GEEZ!" and then, because I really don't like having scratches on my minivan, I promptly reached for V. Or, in other words, having kids = V.