I’m at odds with my evil twin sister….her name is Bee Otch.
I was just driving along patiently sitting in traffic the other day when Bee raised her ugly head and growled loudly in my left ear, “Why do short people drive so freakin’ slowly??”
“What are you talking about, Bee? You’re generalizing,” I said. “Now be nice. Anger will get you nowhere and won’t make the traffic go any faster.”
“OK,” she says with a wad of vitriolic spit flinging onto my windshield, “Is it me, or is it not a scientific fact that a driver’s height is in direct freakin’ proportion to the extension of their short legs, times the non-existent exertion of said leg’s attached foot on the accelerator!?”
“I’m starting to see a pattern here,” she says, pounding her fist on my clavicle. “If I cannot see that hand-grippin, short-shit driver’s head in front of me because her head does not extend higher than the headrest, it’s a sure thing she’s going to be driving under the speed limit and pissing me off. She should have her license yanked from her Hello Kitty purse!! Gawd!!”
“There should be a height restriction,” she says, “just like there’s an ‘eyeglasses’ restriction – on everyone’s license. And it should say, ‘Drivers whose nostrils are in – or directly opposite of – the same spatial vicinity as the horn area of the steering wheel shall not occupy a vehicle unless accompanied by four telephone books for support. Leg or shoe extensions and increased reaction time also required.’ “
As I crept up behind short lady’s car which was moving at 17 miles per hour, I felt my head spin a la Linda Blair and had this sudden urge to lay on my horn, but then I would be giving in to Bee’s madness. She really needs to take an anger management class and learn to be more patient.
♥ But I do love her, and sometimes I even give her the upper hand when Wimpy Minnie Me needs to kick some commuter ass.
CAT'S OUT OF THE BAG 