Road rage

I believe I take the prize right now for suckiest blogger on the planet.  I had a serious case of writer's block...up until this morning.

As I sit here sipping my delicious McD's mocha frappe, I'm going to tell you a little tale of road rage and my nutso husband.

So as I was driving Brand to work this morning (we share one car), we came to a four-way stop.  Naturally, I stopped.  When it was my turn to go, I put my foot on the accelerator and started to proceed.  At that precise moment, another car pulled up to the right and, without even looking, they pulled out.  He cut me off.

I wasn't going fast, so I just stepped on the brake and basically uttered the words, "What the hell..."  No big deal.  Look, we all make mistakes as drivers.  Whatever.

Yeah, well, that one offense clearly brought out Brand's inner Hulk because dude reached over and laid his fist on the horn for, like, 10 seconds straight.  But that wasn't good enough.  As we moved forward, he did it again!

He obviously scared the piss out of the offending stop-sign runner (who, by the way, appeared to be a little old man with a HANDICAP sticker on the rearview mirror no less), because the person stopped driving, stopped dead in his tracks.

Would you believe that my husband had his hand on the door handle like he was going to get out of the car and beat the hell out of this person?

I started yelling at him to calm the fuck down.  Like are you really going to get arrested over this?  Are you on steroids or something?

And then he got nasty with me because I was clearly not as pissed off that this person didn't know the rules of the road.

I was mortified.  I still want to find the person that drives the blue VW Bug with a handicap sticker on the mirror and apologize for my husband's momentary insanity.

I have instituted a new rule.  If you are in the passenger seat, you may not touch the horn.  Off limits, buddy!

Hopefully, I'm back to posting regularly!