Yule be sorry.

Remember how I told you Christmas Day was wonderful? It truly was, except for the part about my BMW bottoming out on a rock on the dirt road next to my house.

That’s the last time I will drive down that road, the one that for 15 years I insisted not be paved because “it’s rustic.”

It’s rustic, all right.

After several small parts of my beloved vehicle clattered to the pavement in my driveway, I made the executive decision to be in denial about the incident until after the holidays. I ignored the warning light indicating that the all wheel drive no longer worked, and the message urging me to “drive with caution.” I parked the car behind my house where I couldn’t see it, and drove my mother’s Corolla, the one that squeaks and has roll-down windows, for a week, pretending I didn’t notice the difference between gleaming wood dashboard trim and gray plastic.

But of course I did notice.

So did You Know Who You Are, who insisted I had to address my BMW problem. He even drove (with caution!) my crippled car to the auto body shop, because he’s a gentleman. And because he hates roll-up windows, too.

While my new friend Nino assessed the damage at the shop, I headed to the Subaru dealer, figuring I’d trade in my broken BMW for a new car.

But guilt set in. I asked myself: What kind of person was I, dumping my dented auto just because I don’t have the motor coordination to avoid hitting a rock?

And I answered myself: The same person who once dumped a date because he showed up at my door wearing a sweater made of synthetic fiber.

Not to mention the same person who inconvenienced her neighbors for 15 years by refusing to pave the dirt road.

The joke was on me, and that is not where I like jokes to be. I started thinking maybe I should let my neighbors pave the road, after all.

Then, in a happy reversal of karma, Nino reported that the damage to my car was minimal, dire warning lights to the contrary. By the time my BMW emerged from his ministerings, it was scratched, but not much the worse for wear. And since Nino isn’t a crook like the “repairman” at the gas station, it didn’t cost much to fix, either.

A Christmas miracle!

Nice mixed signals, karma. So — to pave, or not to pave?

Nah.

But karma’s a tricky thing — open to interpretation, but you can’t ignore it altogether.

So bye, rock.