There is a stretch of road on my daily route that is heavily patrolled. The speed limit is 35 miles per hour. I always know the people who live in the area or drive it regularly, because we drive no faster than 36 miles per hour. Always. Lots of crabby cops on that stretch. No donut shops. You get my drift, yes?
Today, a black Miata comes screaming up on my tail, wedging his headlights up my bumper. He probably really enjoyed my "And then Buffy staked Edward. The End." bumper sticker. I did what I usually do in that situation, tap my brakes. It's my way of saying you have to buy me a nice dinner before I let you ride my ass. He then honks. Repeatedly.
Dude. Seriously? I'm in a minivan full of jabbering kids. 35 miles an hour is like an unanesthetized lobotomy. My driving the speed limit is far more painful for me than for you in your sexy (in a chick way) car. He wasn't knowing, because he pulls around me, all horn-honking, middle-finger-flipping, obscenity-yelling rage. You might want to save a hand to steer with, mister, and also? Thanks so much for teaching my five-year-old son a new word.
He sped off to have his litter of kittens in private and I turned up the radio. I go two blocks and see flashing lights ahead.
You know where this is going, don't you? Don't you?
Mr. Miata is getting a ticket. OH MY HADES, KARMIC ORGASM. I laughed so hard, my mascara ran. Okay, it would have if I had put any on this morning. Better yet, he saw me. He recognized me. I know he did. If there hadn't been a cop right there and if I hadn't been driving, I would have snapped a picture, just to fuck with him. Too awesome.
Good times. Good times. And yes, I know I'm a giant bitch. If this is news, you should read my archives.
1 comments:
OMG, I love this story!!! (and I often think of this when I go zooming around someone for going too slow!)
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