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Chin up, Slayer. Those things happen.
In 1979, I had a Mr. Misty on my dash on my way home from work at the Dairy Queen. (Yes, that Dairy Queen, ENDelt. My picture's on the wall there, by the way.) I made a left turn, and learned that inertia will make a Mr. Misty slide. A quick lunge, a loss of control, and suddenly I was up on a high curb. Tore the brakes out from under the car, but I never told my parents. When my dad noticed that the car had no brakes, I just shrugged. That was about two weeks after I got my license, and I was just lucky I didn't hit anyone or anything.
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I'm putting random letters here as a celebration of free speech: xigrakgrah misorojeq rkemeseit.
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