Carried Over the Threshold (After Being Rear-Ended In the Driveway)

Yesterday my husband and I signed the official documents to make our little blue-shuttered, two bedroom, one bath home our very own. So after dinner, with the tool chest and two pair of work gloves in the back seat, we drove over to assess more closely the 1100-and-something square feet we now possess.

As we were turning into our driveway off the quiet residential street, we heard brakes squealing and a crunch-thud as a little faded blue 80s-model compact made contact with the rear end of my husband's Camry.
(Minor changes have been made in the language choice of our friend, the negligent driver. This does not alter the main story.)

"What the bleep?! Why don't you use your bleepity-bleep turn signal? Don't you know how to bleeping drive?" A very flustered teenage girl in Daisy Dukes and a worn tshirt spewed profanities at my husband, who, with remarkable calm, asked her to lower her voice.
"I don't have a license or insurance and they're going to send me to jail!" She wailed. So there's a reason why you shouldn't be driving, I thought to myself.
The blonde passenger in the front seat, who I could barely see for the mass of Mardi Gras beads and strawberry-shaped car fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror, was laughing nervously. The driver's Hispanic boyfriend climbed out of the back seat to help review the damage, which amounted to nothing more than a little scratch on the edge of my husband's wheel well and a rather sizable concavity in her fender.
"It's going to be okay. I'll probably have this looked at, just in case, but it doesn't look like it did all that much damage to my car, " my husband attempted to console her. She just flipped her poorly- highlighted hair with a black nail polished hand.
After writing down her information, the rattled teenager and her posse drove off without so much as an apology.

Minutes later, as my husband carried me over the threshold and into our new home, I couldn't help but wonder if this was a bad omen, or a good one.

(The reader may also be interested to know that not even a week ago, I had a little accident of my own when I bumped another car at a stop light. This occurance, perhaps, makes yesterday's events more ominous. ...or does it?)