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What to do? You sigh, shrug your shoulders (if that kind'a thing helps you get over it) n' you go find the nearest set of chicanes to make yourself feel better.
Unauthored scratches n' chips, bird crap, kicked-up rocks, smooth, sensual expanse-of-fender seekin' shoppin' carts, careless door openers . . they're all out there in lyin'-in-wait mode. Ain't pleasant to think about, but they are.
You do your best to avoid 'em, but ya godda realize that any of 'em (or worse) can happen.
The up side of it is that most of it doesn't take away from what Stewie's capable of in the corners, n' that's the essence n' the therapy that Stewie holds for us.
Of course the therapy of catchin' the @*#&er n' rearrangin' his molecules is always a rewardin' pastime, but it's not the usual scenario. So you do whutcha can.
Be well.
Java
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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