Have you ever been so wrong about something that you would rather have your knees broken by two giggling Gallagher impersonators rather than face the world? I can think of many instances in my life that this phenomenon drowned me in sweet sorrow. I was sure that there were no cars coming as I backed my parents’ Chevy Suburban out of the driveway – directly into a school bus. The cop looked at me incredulously, remarking, “How could you not see it? It’s big and bright yellow!” I spluttered something about a big tree in my line of sight as I made sure the bus driver was okay. I was the toast of my high school that morning, a kind of reverse-Pyrrhic victory. All those accolades for being wrong.