Hey, lady in the black Range Rover. Obviously today was not your day. I saw you driving behind me on Patterson Avenue — in fact I watched in my rear view mirror as you approached, slowed down, sped up, down, up, down, up, and pretty much breathed down my bumper for about a mile. I was driving my normal route on my way home from work, and to be honest, once I hit Patterson, I’m on autopilot, listening to the Beatles on Sirius, singing in near-perfect (to me) harmony, and making bets with myself on what song will play next. I didn’t realize that I was only going the speed limit – and apparently that was putting a dent in your day.

OK, I get that. I wasn’t going Range Rover speed. So once you got an opening, you slipped around me, and paused by my side to give me a look. And boy what a look. Your face was scrunched up like a jack-o-lantern left on the porch until December, and in my mind I was imagining you smelled like that too.

That’s probably taking it a bit too far.

So here’s the thing. I’m sorry you were mad. I really am. You were probably late for something, and it was probably really important. Maybe your kids were waiting or maybe someone was sick. Or maybe you’d just left a place where something upset you. I’ve been there too — ask me about the last bad haircut I got.

Life is way too short to be mad at people driving normally. Save those scrunched faces for the swervers, the honkers, the breaktappers and the radio blasters. Or better yet, ignore them too.

I really hope that my driving didn’t bug you the whole day or keep you from appreciating the good things that matter — like the husband, two kids, and a dog waiting at home (your stickers on the back window were a dead giveaway). It was just me driving, like I do every day, and will continue to do every day. And for all the stuff that might be going wrong in your life right now, I hope that someone or something you pass on the road tomorrow will make you smile.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Comment *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.