Dear Angry Motorist,

Hi. Remember me? I'm the girl who was driving the white sedan downtown this afternoon.

Are you familiar with physics? I'm not exactly a top scientist, but I know a little bit about physics, like the law that states that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Are you familiar with that law, Angry Motorist? I would venture a guess that you are not, since you were filled with such rage when I stopped my car on the street. I did so as to not collide with the line of cars stopped in front of me.

I understand that sometimes we're in a hurry, Angry Motorist. I understand that sometimes we have business meetings that put our careers on the line. I understand that sometimes we forget that we left the oven on, and we need to hurry home so that we don't burn that batch of brownies, or the house. I understand that sometimes we need to go to the bathroom while we're on the road, and there are very few situations more uncomfortable than needing to use the facilities when you're trapped in a two-ton hunk of steel in the middle of the city and unable to pull over.

But you need to understand physics, Angry Motorist. If there are cars stopped in front of me, I can't do anything about it, because physics tells us that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. When you leaned on the horn with all the patience and tranquility of a rabid wolverine and made vehement hand gestures at me in the mirror, I sympathized with your impatience. I had places I would have preferred to be as well. Trust me, Angry Motorist, the last place I wanted to be right then was trapped on a one-way street in front of your vehicle, which was substantially larger than mine.

I would have been perfectly understanding, if a little annoyed, had you simply beeped your horn and waved your hands at me, but you didn't stop there, did you, Angry Motorist? No, you actually opened your door, put one foot on the pavement, and screamed at me from a position halfway in and halfway out of your vehicle. Your guttural, inarticulate cries were accompanied by more of the same vehement, aggressive hand gestures you seem to have quite a talent for, which are much less offensive when performed in the safety of your locked automobile. When you stepped out into the street, however, you crossed a line.

The line of traffic began to move right then, and as we inched forward you made sure that nothing short of an anorexic pixie would be able to squeeze between your front bumper and my rear one. Do you realize how unsettling it is, Angry Motorist, when someone in a vehicle substantially larger than your own is so close behind you that you can almost feel the shifting molecules between the two bumpers? If you don't, it is very unsettling.

When you sped past me amid a cloud of what I can only assume were obscenities of so vulgar a nature that a convicted felon would cringe, I saw your license plate. I have a good memory, Angry Motorist, and had you not gone a different route than I chose at that moment, your license plate number would have been rattled off flawlessly to the local police along with the color and manufacturer of your vehicle, as well as a physical description of your irate self. I got a very good look at you, Angry Motorist, when I watched you spewing verbal venom at me through my rear-view mirror.

Angry Motorist, I didn't antagonize you. I was actually listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers while we were stuck on that one-way street downtown. Do you know how mellow the Red Hot Chili Peppers are, Angry Motorist? I know, their name belies the content. Their music is rather uplifting. I would recommend them, especially when driving, because they seem to improve my mood dramatically.

I returned home to my lair safely, Angry Motorist, I'm sure you are happy to know, and I'm not upset with you anymore. I just want you to know that I have your license plate number committed to memory as well as written down in several protected locations in my home and workplace, along with your physical description and a description of your vehicle. Did you know how much information you can gather about a person on the Internet with these minor details? It is really amazing, Angry Motorist.

I sincerely hope that whatever was bothering you when you felt the need to verbally assault me this afternoon and then drive in such an aggressive and dangerous manner has subsided, Angry Motorist, because I don't want you to be so upset anymore. I would really like you to sit back this evening with your drink of choice (perhaps a glass of dry red wine from a small yet charming vineyard in southern California?) and pleasant music in your ears. I want you to close your eyes and feel utterly at peace with the world.

I then hope that you choke on your wine and end up spewing it out of your nostrils with such velocity that it not only stains everything you own within a ten foot radius, but also fills your cranium with a horrific burning sensation that will not subside for days, and then curdles in your belly so that you spend the weekend bent over a toilet evacuating your stomach and bowels simultaneously for a minimum of 36 straight hours.

Have a lovely weekend, Angry Motorist, and remember to drink lots of fluids.

Regards,

Lady Unpleasantries

LadyUnpleasantries@the-iss.com
occultconsult.blogspot.com