On Saturday, I went to Culver City to take the baby for a visit. On our way home, we took the same route to the freeway we always do, down Laura Love's grandparents' street (they don't live there anymore, but that's how I've always thought of that street. Believe it or not, we used to climb the trees in front of their house. I know, I don't seem like the tree-climbing type, do I). I came to a 4-way stop, and a guy driving a truck did too. He was going in the opposite direction, heading back toward my mom and dad's street. He had reddish hair and was wearing a baseball cap.
We both stopped, and then I pulled out into the intersection. That's when I guess he realized that he wanted to turn left, so he did.
He didn't hit me or anything; I stopped about 2 feet into the intersection, and he had plenty of room. I, however, acted as if he had committed a felony. I didn't give him the finger, though I might've shaken my fist at him (which is worse?). And I suppose my face looked mad (and it's possible he could read my lips), because he said, through his open window, "Don't get mad [indecipherable]!" I'm hoping that the word I couldn't hear wasn't "bitch."
I got all embarrassed, and then I thought, jeez, JP is sleeping through this now, but what about when he's 5? 10? I need to control myself a little better. Even though that guy was totally a jerk, my reaction wasn't exactly the greatest, either. It wasn't the end of the world or anything. Next time I hope I let it just slide.
However. God gave you that blinker for a reason, my friend. Use it.