It was an ordinary Thursday, as Thursdays go. I had errands to run. Simple stuff.

Until the incident.

I was traveling down a two-lane highway at about 50 miles per hour, about 3 miles from home when a pick-up truck passed me in the oncoming lane. As this happened, a projectile object flew from the truck toward my vehicle.

CRASH!

The good news: I didn’t lose control of the vehicle. The impact hit the back of the car, not the front windshield or engine and didn’t jar me or injure me at all.

The bad news: immediately after the impact I heard a dull, dragging noise coming from behind my vehicle. It seemed to be following me.

I pulled over on the first side road available. I took a deep breath and got out to assess the damage.

My entire bumper was lying on the ground behind the car. It was attached via electrical cords. The driver’s side passenger door had a dent — not big, not small. But a dent nonetheless.

I called my son to come rescue me. I advised him to bring duct tape.

For the bumper.

I was shaken, but not stirred. I kept my cool and gave a silent thanks for insurance.

My car was still intact. Totally drivable. The engine hadn’t been affected at all. I followed the insurance company’s directions for getting an estimate for repairs.

And then I learned how insurance operates. The estimate was a little less than 50 percent of my vehicle’s value. But.

But.

But insurance adds thousands to the estimate just in case — just in case — there are more problems found during the repair process.

Yeah.

So with that kind of math in place, my car went from having a ding in the door and a problem with the bumper to being considered a total loss.

I was stunned.

I talked to the adjuster about options. I like my car. I wanted to keep her. (Her name is Millie, by the way.)

I found out this wasn’t an easy process. It involved lots of hoops and lots of jumping. And paperwork — so very, very much paperwork.

At first, I thought about jumping. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good jumper.

I didn’t want to give up on Millie.

But the more I researched, the more I felt the hoops to be formidable.

While Millie still ran reliably and consistently, her bumper had a definite duct tape dependence.

And insurance deemed her a total loss.

I strongly considered keeping my Millie (which I just now realized rhymes with Jilly.) But the insurance and the paperwork and the state regulations about a salvage or a clean title usurped my choices.

She could be repaired, but her reputation could never be restored.

I was left between a rock and a hardly totaled vehicle — neither one my first (or fifth) choice.

So I (reluctantly) chose door number two.

And with that, it’s likely I will soon take possession of the very first brand new vehicle I have ever owned.

It’s a good and a bad thing, not necessarily in that order. All because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere.

Or maybe it’s the opposite of that. Maybe I was in exactly the right place at the right time, although it doesn’t feel that way right now.

Maybe I’ll understand it all better some day, after gaining perspective.

And maybe I’ll have a new car in a day or two.

I’m not sure right now, and maybe that’s the whole point of all of this.

Not knowing for sure, because none of us is supposed to.

That would make it too easy.

— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears regularly in the Times. She can be reached at slicescolumn@gmail.com.