Dear Middle-Aged Man Angrily Gesturing in the Volkswagen Beetle Behind Me

Dear Middle-Aged Man Angrily Gesturing in the Volkswagen Beetle Behind Me,

Stop it.  You look ridiculous.  I can hardly take you seriously right now.

Yes, my blinker is indicating my intention to move to the right and allow you to pass.  But, sir, I cannot do this in haste as the approaching car in the right lane also seems to want to pass me, the slow-poke, just as badly as you do.  So I’ve got to make double-triple-quadruply sure that I’m not endangering the precious cargo in this vehicle.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m driving a minivan.  Either A) I’ve lost a bet or B) I have a kid.  It’d be safest to assume the latter.

Being that you are so comfortable tailgating me at such a high speed and such an unsafe distance, rest assured, sir, that you are not just messing with me.  No, you’re also messing with Bennett.  Me?  Forget about me.  I’m nothing.  But Bennett?  Well, when you mess with him, perhaps he can’t do much (he’s not even six months old!); but he does have two parents, six grandparents, six great-grandparents,  six aunts and uncles, twelve great-aunts and great-uncles, approximately 53 honorary aunts and uncles, around 27 honorary grandparents and a few self-appointed fairy godparents all in his corner.  And, yes, while there are a few who would strive to forgive you in the event that you brought suffering upon his head, there are also quite a few who personally would not think twice about hunting you down.

I’m not threatening you, but surely you need to be made aware of the situation.  It is not in my power to control the love that is lavished upon Bennett and the manner in which that love might be expressed were harm to befall him.

But let’s change gears for a second.  Let’s discuss a little something called a clock.  Perhaps you’ve heard of them.  Sometimes they’re round and fancy, containing two hands –  one to tell the hour and the other, the minutes.  It’s a little harder to get the hang of these clocks, so digital clocks have been invented to keep us all on track.  Those suckers just blink the time right at ya!  You don’t even have to think about it!  Easy-breezy!  The incredible wonder about clocks is how informative they are.  They tell you when you’re early; they tell you when you’re on time; they tell you when you’re late.  They’re so smart that way!

So, dear middle-aged man angrily gesturing in the Volkswagen Beetle behind me, assuming that you have access to at least one of these time-telling gadgets, if you’re running behind and are in a hurry to get somewhere, please understand that this is a YOU problem and not a ME problem.  Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.  You might think that you’re angry at me right now, but – let’s be honest – shouldn’t you really just be angry at yourself for failing to calculate a more realistic estimated time of arrival, assuming you’d fall behind some lady in a minivan who was only going five miles over the speed limit?

Now, to acknowledge the exaggerated gesturing and arm flailing.  Sir, if the drama doesn’t work for Bennett, it’s not gonna work for you.  You think you’re intimidating me when all you’re really doing is making me want to hit the brakes.

Don’t forget that you’re driving in a sea of human beings, all living their lives, just trying to be happy.  We’re not objects or simulated video game opponents.  We’re actual people.  Treat others they way you’d want to be treated.

Holy XOXO’s,

Suzy**

Eight more days to write a blurb and be entered in Square Piece’s first contest/giveaway!  This couldn’t be easier!  Go with your instincts!