Mad About The Girl

There are worse things in life than dropping a sizzling, hot baked potato on the floor, but when I did it twice, I recognized, that using an oven mitt would have been a good idea. Of course, I know the difference between a microwave oven and an oven oven.  It’s not stupidity. It’s hubris. I was impatient, in a hurry, and wanted my baked potato---NOW!

I am woman see me roar, but in this case I was roaring, “Hot! Hot! Hot!” Naturally, as I wiped smashed potato off the floor, I was angry with myself, but happily, I can’t stay angry with anyone. Anger is more corrosive than rock salt.

In contrast, the next morning, on my way to a dental appointment, I encountered my first experience with “road rage,” which is way scarier than dropping a hot potato.

With cars streaming in both directions, I sat behind the wheel of my automobile, at a busy intersection, waiting for the traffic light’s left turn arrow. It was safer to wait, because I couldn’t see around the cars that were going to turn on the opposite side of the street.

A young man, in the car behind me got my attention as he sat in his car flailing his arms, yelling, and honking his horn (not his horn but rather the horn of his dilapidated car). My windows were closed, so I couldn’t hear what he was shouting, but I got the impression that he was very angry with me.

In a few seconds, the green arrow appeared, I made my left turn, and flipped on my right turn directional signal since I immediately was going to turn right onto the road that led to my dentist’s office. The man in the car behind me was still honking, and yelling and waving his arms, and he continued to follow me—very close. At this point I was concerned that he was steering his car with his feet, and that he might decide to shoot off something more than his mouth. This guy didn’t need anger management. He needed nitwit management.

As I parked in front of the dentist’s office, my brave, pudgy, little dentist ran out with his drill going full blast and scared the road raging fellow away. No, that part of the story isn’t true, but I think a couple of well-placed shots of Novocain, would have done the enraged man some good. Happily, he sped off, tires squealing, obscenities spewing, ready to face the rest of his venomous day. This is when you want to advise someone to; “Remember to always be yourself, unless you are a jackass.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Whoa, who peed in your Cheerios?”) Becca Fitzpatrick