Kids, don’t try this at home.
Generally I am not a confrontational person, but nor am I a wallflower. I try to be kind, generous, and to do unto others, blah, blah, blah. I believe in teaching my children integrity by setting a good example for them.
But sometimes I can be a b*tch.
Like many moms, the minute my boys get off the bus it’s go time. On Wednesdays, we have art class, then cub scouts, then choir practice, and sometimes we have baseball practice mixed in there. My Swagger Wagon is my mobile office. I try to be a courteous, considerate driver; I allow people to merge and to make left turns in busy traffic, and I always wait my turn.
Our route home from art class takes us on a windy, narrow road that has no shoulders. We were having a pleasant evening drive (meaning the kids were watching a video with headphones on and I was listening to a station other than Radio Disney) and I was driving the speed limit.
The vehicle behind me was becoming increasingly aggressive. He began following me closely and eventually he flashed his lights at me and honked his horn. Naturally, I became Johnnie LawFollower and made sure I drove EXACTLY the speed limit as I watched him give me the universal hands-up sign for "WTF" and an incredulous shake of the head.
We came up on the light at a major intersection, and I knew from experience that the red light would follow a long cycle and that we’d be sitting there for a few minutes. I checked out my rearview mirror, told myself don’t-do-it-don’t-do-it-don’t-do-it . . . . put ‘er in park, and told the boys to sit tight.
I walked back to the car behind me (picture John Wayne, complete with thistownain’tbigenoughforthe2ofus whistling, except with staticky hair and orthopedic Danskos) as the obnoxious driver looked up from his phone long enough to fiddle clumsily with his window putter downer.
“You know this is a MINI-VAN, right? It’s NOT a Porsche,” I explained, pointing to my vehicle, because apparently he was unaware of the physical logistics of driving an automobile of the grocery-gettin’ variety.
“Yeah, I get it.” Quite the forensic debater, this guy.
“And my BABIES are in this car?” I continued. Mama Bear’s claws were out. I’m sure my eyes were all bugged out, and I may or may not have bared my teeth. “There is NO need to flash your lights at me or to honk your horn.”
“I didn’t flash my lights,” he insisted. Did so, did so, did so. “I did honk at you, but only because you braked during the turn.” Um, there was another car in front of me, Jack@ss.
I closed my argument with an emphatic, “Mini. Van.” and walked back to the Swagger Wagon, like a Boss.
I should not have engaged this man in conversation, especially when any idiot with a free Saturday afternoon and directions to the Moose Lodge can own a gun these days. And I certainly did not behave in a way I would want my children to emulate. To you, Mr. Honky Flasher Guy, I apologize for making you the brunt of my self-righteous Mommy rant. I will be more tolerant of bad drivers. Starting tomorrow.