Put the Pedal to the Metal

It’s a beautiful day so I head out to the store for ice cream and donuts. (What conscientious wife wouldn’t want to serve a nutritious meal to her dearly beloved?) So I’m traveling a lovely country road and cruising along at around 75 mph in a 55 mph zone. Just kidding, although my husband swears I take corners on two wheels. What else would account for those pesky front end alignment issues?

“Well”, I say, “maybe the car is just heavier on one side than the other.” I have experience with this since my right boob is heaver than my left and hangs frighteningly lower. This has on occasion caused me to tilt, so, like the car, I am heavier on one side than the other. I wonder if they do front end alignments on humans.

But, I digress.

I’m cruising along, window down, enjoying the breeze and belting out “On The Boulevard” with Jackson Browne when suddenly someone pulls out in front of me doing ninety-to-nothing. Okay I’m thinking, this guy is hauling so I won’t have to slow down. Wrong. Dead freakin’, flippin’ wrong.

The driver, who just a moment ago was gunning it like he was a NASCAR driver or worse yet…me…slows down to 35 miles per hour. First of all the flippin’ speed limit is 55 mph. He is flippin’ driving at 35 flippin’ miles per hour. He’s looking at everything except the flippin’ road and, much to my disappointment, he won’t look in his flippin’ rearview mirror to see me flippin’ him off.

Dude please.

Here is today’s lesson kids…don’t pull out in front of a middle aged woman who is on a mission to get ice cream and donuts and then take your foot off the gas and pretend it’s Sunday. I don’t care if you do the speed limit and not one mile per hour more. No big deal, but don’t haul ass out in front of some one (namely me) like a bat out of hell and then slow to 20 mph under the speed limit. Dude, have you no manners?

I fear for you. I am afraid someday you will suddenly realize that the rearview mirror is meant for more than checking out the hairs on your chin (this applies to both men and women), at which time you will panic when you discover a long line of pissed off drivers that want nothing more than to pass you so fast it sucks the paint off the driver’s door.

In conclusion, do not interfere with a menopausal woman’s quest for the perfect donut. Put the pedal to the metal and ease on down, ease on down the road.