So, a coupl’a things:
1) Women should NEVER talk on the phone & drive. Ever. Especially when they cut me off to GET TO KFC. Epic. Fail.
2) Men in work trucks do not need to go to Bath & Body Works. Especially when they cut me off to get there (seeing a pattern?).
3) Drivers & pedestrians do not need to take their half out of the middle in:
- the road
- parking lots
- …front of me.
Just saying. The preceding happened to me in a five minute span while I was on my way to Target (say nothing, Casey) to buy Gabe some soy milk. Insanity.
And now touching on gas prices: Most people would assume that the rapidly rising gas prices are due to the craziness that is taking place in the Middle East. That may very well have something to do with it. But y’know what the number one cause of high prices at the pump is? WOMEN DRIVERS.
There. I said it. I, myself, am female (duh), but I’m a decent driver. I do not apply make-up while driving. I do not eat steaming bowls of soup while driving. I do not haggle with my one year old, who is IN THE BACK SEAT, while driving. Know why? I like my face right where it is. I do not think it would look too good on pavement.
Gas prices are increasing quickly not because the president of Libya is a tool… they’re rising because some higher up is thinking, “Surely!, women will stop driving if the price of gas sky rockets!”. Not a chance, fella’s. Have you seen women who own $450 shoes? How do you think they got those shoes?! By getting in their car and driving to the gettin’ place, that’s how. Now, as a woman, I, too, LOVE shoes. Seriously. I would spend ridiculous amounts of money on a good pair of shoes (granted, not $450) before I had Gabe. And I’m not knocking women as a whole… that’d be awfully foolish of me. I’m just sick and tired of getting run off the road because some woman is attempting to multi-task by: eating a bowl of soup, applying mascara, and haggling with her children… WHILE DRIVING. I guess if we drove bumper cars it wouldn’t be that bad. Or, say, if cars were made of feathers. Not too bad, right? But they’re not. And, to be frank, I’m not ready to go just yet. I’ve got a one year old who, whether he thinks so or not, needs me, and will need me until he’s out of college. Please don’t hang my life in the balance because you want a chicken leg.
I’ll tell you where you can stick that chicken leg, ma’am!