Saturday, October 17, 2009

Shakespeare behind the wheel

I have a confession to make. I have road rage. Bad. I have been known to use words that aren't said in polite company, combine them in new and unthought of ways, and sometimes invent my own. Many a friend with straight hair has stepped out of my car with an afro due to the heat of my anger. It's a spectacle to say the least.

Now, I know what my triggers are. Well, what my trigger is. Stupidity. Let me explain. Attempting a right turn with no signal? Not smart, but forgivable. Attempting a right turn from the left lane with no signal? Flames shoot from my mouth. Speeding up and passing instead of yielding when entering the highway? Irritation, but no real harm done. Maintaining your current speed while staying parallel to the car that has the right of way until one of you is forced to slam on the brakes and let the other one pass? I break my steering wheel from the effort of trying to set you on fire with my mind.

When I have passengers in the car, it gets worse, shockingly enough. At that point, it's no longer solely my life that is in jeopardy, it's also my friends/family/random hillbilly hitchhiker. And if my brother, whom I am already freakishly over protective of, is in the car, heaven help the stupid that day. I have found myself freaking out more and more as my "parenting instinct" enhances. Which invariably leads to me calling a person something that translates out to "devious burglar of a part of the female anatomy". Which invariably leads to me telling my brother to never repeat what he just heard. Something he has so far stuck to.

And people wonder why I chain-smoke while I drive...

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