Dear Mr.,
Normally, I am not one to get agro on the road. I believe that live and let live is a great policy to employ while driving here in southern California where people routinely shoot each other for nothing more than 4 feet of asphalt. You can see why, then, I was the first person surprised when I found my temper flare at the silver jeep-ish vehicle to my right. When she started inching forward as we waited in the queue for the little light that tells us we are allowed to go, two-by-two, onto the great freeway of torture (moooooo), it was obvious to me that she wasn’t going to play nice and wait her turn as surely her mother taught her to. I’m positive her parents showed her that we merge together, each lane taking a spot in between the cars from the other lane, first that lane, then my lane, then that lane, and so on, and for her to blatantly disregard these rules of decorum and try to get in front of me, which would clearly be a violation since your car and hers would end up being next to each other instead of yours and mine and THEN hers, as nature intended it, which just unacceptable.
Her shiny silver vehicle revved and inched. My dirty, non-descript colored car tried to rev, died, restarted and inched forward. Our noses met, inch for inch as we got closer to the head of the queue. And my temper flared to the point of me hitting my horn for one brief ‘bleeet’ which was sad sounding even to my own ears. But that is not the point! I was totally in the right. Right?
And then, right when I thought to myself that maybe violence wasn’t the answer, make peace – not war, and who really cares anyway? I’ll get home eventually. Who cares that I have no air conditioning and it’s a freakin’ 100 degrees out here and my windows are rolled down and my hair is completely wind blown and I’m subjected to all kinds of loud, pumping music from other vehicles which are playing songs I would never listen to unless I was tied down and being tortured – who cares? – and then, her friend in the front passenger seat leaned back to the backseat and out the unrolled window on my side and yelled ‘EAT ME!’ after which they both laughed hysterically, their gum-smacking, pink, glossy smeared lips yucking it up in my face, which clearly you saw and thought ‘enough is enough’ and for which I will always be grateful, in a sick and demented ‘they deserved it’ kind of way. The dance that ensued was just lovely and the memory of the event will be kept in my Most Favorite Vindictive Moments box.
Thank you for swinging your giant-ass SUV over to block her and allow me to inch parallel with you. Thank you for moving forward even with me so she had no choice but to stay behind us (where she belonged – it was my turn!) and thank you for your deft weaving in and out of lanes which repeatedly kept her behind you and allowed me to pass you both, get in the right lane and exit one mile later onto the 405 North, where much to my delight, she was at least 500 yards behind me and unable to pass you, due to your mad skillz, and then got caught behind two semis which clearly gave no credence to her friend’s ‘eat me’ remark, even though they actually could have. Eaten them, I mean. They were huge.
In the past, Mr., I counted myself among those that would not be so kind to people driving around in giant-ass, gas-guzzling, environment-killing SUV vehicles and tomorrow I might put myself in that category again. (mom – don’t follow that link…) But today, right this second, I love you. And it has nothing to do with looks, as we both know that your 50+ extensively wrinkled face has no effect on me. No, it was your kindness. To me. And your cruelty to her. Wait a minute. That didn’t sound right…..
Anyway, my love for you runs deep, baby.
Thanks a mill,
lpc
Awesome!