Sometimes…

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Sometimes I am so thankful that Susie Miranda, my little slice of Honda heaven, is a 4 cylinder work of art instead of a 6-cylinder behemoth of a motor vehicle that, if it got into a fight with a Dodge Ram, would win. That sweet little 4 cylinder is frequently what stops me from going Tawanda on my fellow drivers when they pull the typical Florida drivers stunts.

Ok, for anyone that has never seen Fried Green tomatoes (i.e. people that are not from the South or gay), “Tawanda” was the alter-ego of Kathy Bates’s good girl housewife character. When she finally breaks the rules, goes batshit, and starts haphazardly ramming her Buick into the tiny Fiat of two valley girls that stole her parking spot, she screams “Tawanda!!!!!!”

When I lived in Georgia I remember this story about a dude that would get so mad in commuter traffic that every night he would bake a 5-pound bag of potatoes so that he could throw them at people in traffic the next day.

Now tell me you’ve never thought of doing that when you’re barreling down the road on the way to work at like 70 miles an hour and some ass-hat pulls out of his subdivision in front of you doing like 35 MILES AN HOUR and you look in your rear view mirror and realize that no one’s behind you so if he’s waited like FIVE SECONDS then he wouldn’t have had to pull out in front of you, thereby ruining it for everyone.

This usually aggravates me even more at the end of a work day gone horribly wrong, when all i can think of is hurrying up and getting home, taking off my pants, removing my contacts, getting a bath and reading Jane Austen while wearing my coke bottle glasses and plaid pajama pants.

Anyone that stands between me and my wonderful pantsless evening is asking for a beatdown and deserves a baked potato.

Just sayin’.

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