Sometimes, I write offline. Yes, it's true. I take pen and paper and write the old fashioned way. There are days when all I can muster is a Judy Blume diary entry. On better days, a coherent editorial rant emerges... or maybe a quick character study. The entry below falls somewhere between the two. The precipitating event was a brief walk from the store where I work to lunch across the street. I was nearly run over by a dreaded, oil-sucking, SUV/minivan type thing. The driver scared the shit ouf of me, and then I just got pissed... She'll get hers, don't you worry.
Yeah, I know, it's a pretty minor event, and I don't know why I feel the need to share it. Just read my bio - I have a thing about seeing my name in a by-line.
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"Bitch, you're supposed to stop! Roll over the line in front of me, will you? Had you revved your engine a little harder and a little later, I'd have gold paint smeared across my blood-stained jacket and I'd be chewing your tires furiously before they crushed my skull.
"Watch where you're going next time, you pill-drained, vodka-soaked bottle blonde. Just because your life isn't as fabulous as your "Special Edition" bright and shiny minivan, don't expect any sympathy from me. My life sucks knowing you almost ran me over. I survived by the grace of a callous god who let you escape with your bad fortune and good taste in tact. Chances are, you will sleep it off in front of the television -- Ellen and Oprah will pass you by, but perhaps you will catch the end of a Very Special Dr. Phil just in time to see a room full of overprivileged, undersexed housefraus lamenting their own unsatisfying minivan lives. You will weep empathetically, "Thank you, God! I am not alone!"
"But you will remember nothing of me. The near miss that impacted my day will be lost in the haze of an afternoon. I'll remember, though. How can I forget?"
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