Dear Old Lady Driver...

*An open letter to little old ladies everywhere...*

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Dear Blue Haired, Buick Regal driving, Geriatric Woman:

You are old.

I understand that.

I understand that your life has been decades of ups and downs, of trials and tribulations and of living life as a little girl all the way to the frail, hair net, orthopaedic shoe wearing woman you are today.

I also understand that those years were frought with oodles upon oodles of decisions that you had to make.

Sure, some decisions weren't that hard to make. Like, whether or not to switch from a regular broom to a Swiffer (gasp!) or whether or not only buying a microwave, but using it once every year really is easier to use than a stove top.

That decision about whether to send a check for $6, or should you make it $7, to your great-grandson for his birthday was kind of hard.

But then there are those difficult decisions, you know. Should you have gone down on your knees in the front seat of that '39 Studebaker Champion back in 1943 with your soon to be husband and potentially get the rap as a "trollop"? Or perhaps should you have allowed said alcoholic husband to use his belt buckle, or maybe the wrench, in the ritual beating of your oldest boy for clogging the toilet?

That last one is a toughie. That's for sure. So, never let it be said that I don't admire the challenges you've faced.

So, here you are today, you little minx, as I see you in that tank you call an "automobile", you are forced to make yet one more in a long list of decisions in your life.

Should you or should you not ease into the intersection at the county's busiest four way stop sign intersection?

I know, I know...it's difficult. Difficult to determine who actually goes first. Is it the truck on your left that got to the intersection a smidge after you did? Or is it the mini-van full of groceries turning left ahead of you? Dear Lord...what was that rule in drivers training again?

Oh, wait. Silly me. You didn't take drivers training. It was your drunk ex-husband that taught you to drive, so you could go and pick him up from his Poker games at Roy "Stinky Thumbs" Arbuckles farm back during the FDR Administration. You shouldn't have to remember such mundane details.

Duh.

In light of that, take your time. Nevermind the traffic jam behind you, roughly twenty vehicles deep. Nobody here is in a hurry. We've got all the time in the world. Most of the people behind you have bosses that could care less if we get to work on time.

In fact, it was your old granny said, "late is better than not at all, better safe than sorry", and all that old school "ain't got shit to do but wait here and die" palaver, right?

Quite frankly, watching you struggle to push that gas pedal is a reminder of the thoughful acts needed for the aging, and of the trail you have all blazed before an ever respectful me.

Have a great day!

With Love,

That guy behind you using raunchy expletives and vowing to push your wrinkled ass into that busy intersection in three seconds if you don't utilize that vertical gas pedal on the right.

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Can you guess what my morning drive time was like?