An open letter to people who don't drive small cars

Dear people who don't drive small cars,

Calmly take your hands of the horn and wipe that holy-shit-don't-back-into-me look off your face. I promise, I am not going to hit your car.

I drive a small car. When I park, my cute little two-seater sports car goes into parking spaces and basically disappears. Pickup trucks, minivans, even Honda Civics are longer than my car. If I don't remember where I parked, I'm basically screwed.

So...

When I'm backing out of a space, I can't see if anyone is coming unless I back up just a little bit to where everyone else's car's butt is.

HONK HONK HONKHONK HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!

Good Lord. You'll please note that I am inching my way back old-lady style, not gunning it like a douchebag. I am a good driver. As soon as I can see, I stop, give the person who honked at me an eat-shit look and then gun it.

Anywhos, the point is: Quit honking at me as soon as I put on my reverse lights and go back 3.5 inches. We all know 3.5 inches is not enough to do anything.

Fauxhawk = NO drivers license allowed

In my opinion, anyway. People with those ridiculous fauxhawks should not be allowed to have drivers licenses. Honestly, they probably should be allowed out of their house, but I realize this is a little extreme.

So I'm driving home from work today and I'm aggravated. I'm so aggravated for about 100 reasons and, apparently, everyone on I-95 has gotten the memo, and they're driving extra bad to to spite me.

Especially the guy with the fauxhawk.

I am in my fun little car, music blaring, trying to drown away the angst. It's time for me to merge onto the highway, which means that I'll slide in front of the guy with the fauxhawk (who is driving in the slow lane, so this must be what he's expecting -- people get on 95 in your lane).

He, however, clearly had other ideas and was totally and completely appalled by the fact that I'm even thinking about getting in front of him.

"I'm driving too fast for this lane, lady," I can hear him fume (picture little fumes coming out of his fauxhawk). "How dare you make me hit my breaks like I should expect to in this merging lane!"

I know, y'all. I got a lot of nerve.

So what does he do as I'm merging as any normal person would? He speeds up, nearly swiping the left rear of my car to get in the merging lane himself. Whaaaaa? Then zooms back into the slow lane, nearly taking out the left front of my car this time.

Yay, fauxhawk dude! You're now in front of me! You did it!

This is when I take the opportunity to do what any respectful driver would do... speed up and ride his cool-guy car bumper for a few seconds, of course -- and he looks at me through his rear view like I'm a crazy person!

Really, buddy? Didn't you just do that to me? Except that you added in some extras, like nearly amputating two of my car's extremities?

I mean, shoot -- it's not like he was jockeying for position in front of me in line at the grocery store and I had a cart loaded with $200 worth of groceries and file full of coupons or anything. What would he have lost be letting me merge? Two seconds?

He was probably running late because he spent too much time sculpting his hair.