I had planned an honesty-laden, full-tilt-ahead blog this morning while lying in my bed before getting up. Then the universe spat on me from a dizzy height. Like in getting up was filled with irritating, mind-gobblingly, shitty obstacles. I thought once I got in the car to go to work, that I was coming out of the fug. It turns out I wasn’t. Another letter formed while we sat, in the fast lane, cars whizzing by at scary speeds, waiting for the AA (Automobile Association, as opposed to Alcoholics Anonymous although, at this point, I may need the Alcohol version in the near future) to arrive and help us with our deader-than-dead car.
Dear Man in Super Luxury Car,
While I realise that it is inconvenient for you to have to change lanes in order to avoid slamming into the back of my not-so-luxury-but-very-sweet old car while on the way to work, I think it is, possibly, completely and utterly unnecessary for you to put your hand on your hooter for such a long period. In fact, perhaps completely unnecessary to hoot at all.
I can see how, perhaps, you’d think that we had stopped there, in the middle of fast-moving traffic, just for the fun of it, and to have a little chat, but still. I thought, perhaps, the fact that our emergency lights were on, could’ve alerted you to the fact that we were, actually, stuck, and not just frivolously stopped in that particular spot.
I am pretty sure your mother, like mine, brought you up to be a decent gentleman (in my case, lady) and would probably be horrified that, instead of stopping to help, you rudely hooted. I’m just assuming, though. Perhaps she did bring you up to be a rude prick.
I hope you have a lovely day.
Good grief. Will this day improve, please?
22 hours ago