It was a typical morning. Feed the cats. Walk the dogs. Change the litter boxes. Defrost my car. Take my pills. Make tea. Make lunch, and eat nasty cold cereal. Welcome to my middle-aged life. Jesus, am I really 35?
The ride to work was interesting. There was a guy continuously trying to kiss my ass. Apparently, he failed to see the school bus up ahead that flashed its pretty, bright lights. Then, I traded him for a woman intent on her texting all the way into town by the traffic light. Lucky for me, she stopped just in time, and I was off to work.
After picking up my coworker from the local supermarket, we raced away to Route 6. Route 6 with two silent 6’s, but the morning commute wasn’t terrible. It was quiet until I noticed the red car behind me swaying to the left and swaying to the right, and the dance went on right up to the Yield sign. Apparently, she didn’t enjoy the fact that I came to a complete stop, checking out the passing traffic before turning right.
Like a bat out of hell, she slammed on the gas, cutting around me and took up both lanes leading onto the Palisades Parkway. She tried to block me as I entered the right lane. Our cars graced the other, and my coworker started to panic. She reached for the wheel, but my hands were steady. My eyes fixed on the crazed bitch behind the wheel, and then finally, she moved her ass into the left lane and fired away. Welcome back to Tango of the Road Rage Drivers.
