Today was apparently the day for me to be stuck behind slow-moving drivers. Constantly and never-endingly and nerve-grindingly.
I admit freely that my patience is not what it could be. My eldest, at the age of about 5, actually prayed out loud on one occasion for God to give me more of it. Out of the mouths of babes, indeed. People who drive slowly in front of me on two-lane roads with no passing lanes make me particularly nuts. (Hi, Grandpa! Yes, I'm channeling you. Hope you're getting a good laugh out of it from up there. At least the worst thing my kids have learned from my commentary on other drivers in recent memory is the epithet "flaming moron," which, although far from ideal, does still beat what you used to call the drivers of the trucks you got stuck behind back in the day.)
Anyway, the weather today was clear and sunny. Roads were free of construction. No deer in sight. And yet this guy I was following on the way to pick up Petunia after school was driving between 5 and 15 MPH below the speed limit the whole way. If he'd been old, I would have contained myself, I swear. But he wasn't. And the real kicker? He was driving a red Corvette!
It's just not right, I tell ya.
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