Playing in Traffic

I seem to find myself short of patience when it comes to traffic. Especially heavy traffic. I get very irate, I gesture, I curse, I roll my eyes. Yeah, the whole nine.

In fact, I've come to believe -Nay, I've grown to accept- that this is what will ultimately cause my 'untimely' death.

To momentarily change the subject...how can someone have an untimely death?

I mean, if someone dies...wasn't that their 'time'? Maybe I've got it all wrong.

It's been known to happen.

Frequently.

Regardless of this fact, I don't see myself changing my ways. I try, I really do. But it just doesn't take anything for me to get...all hot and bothered, if you will. 

Honest. 

I mean, picture this: I'm driving along, rockin' out to my favorite tunes, and all is well. I'm not in a hurry. I've got no deadline. But then some jerk cuts in front of me. When there is plenty of room behind me. And without signaling. And that's all it takes for me to be ready to roll down my window, all while giving my best "I hate you with my eyes" glare, and angrily wave the ever-popular middle finger. One of these days, I'm sure, I'll do that to the wrong person. You know, I'll do that to the 312lb (all muscle, of course) guy who just found out his wife is cheating, then went to the office and found out he'd been framed for embezzlement and was fired, then got a flat on the way home and is now not only driving on a spare but hanging on to his sanity by a mere proverbial thread. Then I come along and honk at him for what? For NOTHING. For changing lanes like any good American has the God given right to do. And that's just, I tell you, that's just it! And it's a good thing he still has his shotgun in the back for when he and his buddies go hunting, and by golly he's just going to step the f*** out of his car and blow my finger waving ass away.

That'll learn me. 

And another thing. I can't really afford to be the pushy jerk that I am. I have a...shall we say 'unique' car. Lots of easy-to-remember/easy-to-recognize features to it. So really, even if dumped/fired/shotgun wielding man doesn't follow me to the right house, the chances of him seeing me later on in life and thinking "Hey, that's that little snotball that flipped me the bird!" are unfortunately quite high. Especially since I live in a relatively small town.

So there it is, folks. I'm doomed. I'm going to hack off the wrong person. And in the wrong part of town. And on the one day where they actually would find it necessary to teach me some manners. Physically.

One day. Perhaps soon.

I really should work on my road rage.