So I was driving home the other day, you know, just me and Gretchen enjoying the summer sun. I’m cruising through the intersection, I have the right of way, I’m not speeding for once, and all is right with the world.
Until this chick in a Miata coming in the opposite direction decides she’s not going to yield and she’s going to turn left. Now, ya’ll know how I feel about Gretchen and the laws of physics. And there was no way a collision would have ended well for that lady and her Miata. So I held up my hand so Miata lady could see it and clearly told her to stop. I did not stop—she had no choice but to stop. Then she–dunh, dunh, duuuuhhh–flips me off.
My question is: what did she accomplish by flipping me off? And this extends to most people when they drive. I mean, does it help in any way? Nope. Honestly, it doesn’t even bother me a little bit—I will probably laugh at the person flipping me the bird while they eat Gretchen’s exhaust.
Also, why be so blatantly wrong in the first place? She was sooooooo wrong, and I’m not sure why. But here’s my theory about Miata Lady: Ol’ girl probably thought that her car was fast enough to turn in front of Gretchen before we got to the intersection. And that plan straight up failed. So she got mad at me, and gave me her middle finger of death. Only it wasn’t of death. It wasn’t a finger of anything. It’s. Just. A. Finger.
Oh, and if she really was about her green beans, she would have taken the hit. That I can respect. That would have taken some cojones. Cojones of titanium. I mean, I would have visited her grave and everything if she had stone cold said “Yeah, I’m turning here and no one can stop me.” Of course, Gretchen would have stopped her in the worst way imaginable, but what a way to go.
Much better than a middle finger.
Yeah, I know it’s supposed to be a giant “Eff you” or whatever, but really, “eff you” doesn’t much hurt my feelings anyway.
Now, if she had gotten out of the car wearing booty shorts that said “Juicy” on the back even though she was clearly well into her fifties—actually, no. Age has nothing to with this. Those shorts would have hurt my feelings no matter who was wearing them.
Or if she was wearing that same coral lipstick that all overly tan women like her seem to wear, that may have offended me a bit.
Shortalls may have hurt my feelings. (I know they are supposed to making a comeback, but let’s face it, no thank you.)
A confederate flag would have hurt my feelings. Especially if unaccompanied by a red ’69 Charger.
A bumper sticker with the word Oprah in a circle and crossed out would have definitely hurt my feelings. I would probably have had to fight her.
So, I am putting out a call to everyone to be more creative than the middle finger. Cause, you know, it’s just a finger. Boring, is what it is.
And who wants to be boring when be offensive? Not me.