You’re in a different car every time I meet you on the road. I was taught not to hate, but do you ever push me to the brink. I’m driving a ticking time bomb, a car that as of this year is officially an antique. My dear vehicle trucks along Rt. 11 with all of its might, keeping in line with all speed regulations and adhering to the rules of the road. Yet, you follow me with a fervor I’ve never seen. You follow close enough to kiss my bumper, causing me to tap my brakes and make it appear that my dear old car is blushing. I assure you, this is not the case. Maybe you think I’m playing hard to get by tapping my brakes and trying to stay out of your way. I’m not. I’m fleeing from you as fast as I can while still obeying the law. When you wait until those dotted lines are ending to squeeze close just before the lane becomes one- I do not like you any more than before. My feeble heart and car cannot withstand this game of cat and mouse.
I try to be calm throughout these ordeals, being sure to give you enough room to slip through between the on-coming semi truck and myself. I even keep my mouth shut as you drive past, so as not to startle you. In the end, I’m right behind you at the stop light between Walgreens and CVS. You still look so pleased. Thanks for my morning shot of adrenaline, without you I’d just be some average Joe, enjoying a quiet morning, void of near death experiences.