Along Came A Jogger

I'm not quite sure what he was so mad about that he felt compelled to smack my  car in the ass as he strode behind me. Maybe his thinking was so deluded by the endorphins  circulating in his bloodstream that he thought he was moving at the speed of light. He was a good 20 feet away from the intersection when I pulled up to wait to turn left out of my neighborhood.Clearly, even with advanced age, men don't lose their egotistical belief that they should have the right of way in every situation.

Maybe it's something in the Michigan air today. It was sunny, in the low 50's and I noticed a lot of people trying to fit in jogs, dog walks and bike rides today before the weather turns frightful. Through my open sunroof I heard him say, "Stop sign, blondie" as he huffed by and hit the back of my car. It was at that point I definitely felt a surge of road rage. What is this geezer thinking? Isn't it obvious I'm a NASCAR fan? I barely controlled my urge to pull over the curb and drive my car down the bike path behind him to give him a piece of my bumper.

Good thing for him I'm not still driving my 4 wheel drive Yukon, there's no way I can take the low rider I have now off road. The weird thing is that this is not the first time I've been accosted by a spindly leg over the hill wind bag while in my car. Now, that might lead me to think, it must be me.But it doesn't. I'm a confident, sensible driver with a clean driving record. Sometimes I have a need for speed but not in a neighborhood.

This is the view from behind the stop sign.There is no way to safely pull out unless you proceed to wait in front of the cross walk.

This is the same position my car was in, waiting to turn left out of my subdivision. Notice there is also a stop sign for the pedestrians?

Does being blond, short and driving a Ford Flex automatically equate with being as docile a bunny? An automatic target for bullies, even elderly ones? I'll warn you now that it wouldn't be wise to fall for stereotypes and underestimate me. While I am typically composed and controlled I have inherited quite a temper.Usually held tightly under lock and key, once sprung it is not a pretty thing.

And I'm not above using a weapon (you are going to want to see this). Years ago when I worked odd shifts and took call I often traveled with hammer under my seat and a baseball bat a quick reach away.Even now it's not unusual for me to have my handy 12 in 1 tool in my glove compartment that includes a small pocket knife sharp enough to perform a on the spot prostate biopsy (a little too much Dexter maybe).

Don't mess with The Mayor.