THE ART OF KNOWING WHICH BATTLES TO PICK

Twice this week I got cut off while driving by someone talking on the cell phone and not looking. Both were woman who just gave me the same indifferent glance when I honked my horn. Both were probably telling the person they were talking to about the a-hole honking at them and I decided that enough was enough. This afternoon a woman cut in front of me causing me to jam on my breaks and drop the slice of pizza I was eating onto my lap and then, adding insult to injury, the open box of pizza on the passenger seat slid off with the cheese pushed up into one corner and the crust lying naked atop.
We were both in the left turn lane waiting for the light to turn green and I jumped out of my car, ran up to hers and knocked on the driver's window and gave a cranking motion for her to open it. Did I mention that I had grabbed a handful of very hot pizza and that my hand was burning and when she rolled down her window I flung it on her dress and grabbed her cell phone all-the-while screaming at her for cutting me off and messing up my lunch?
I used a choice selection from my A-list of epithets and moments after I threw her phone to the ground and stomped the circuits out of it I noticed a very pregnant woman in the back seat. "Hurry, Momma, hurry," she was moaning. "It's coming."
"Don't push yet," I said to her and ran back to my car and drove off like a shot, cutting off the oncoming traffic with an illegal u-ey.