Honking Hurts My Feelings


Easy does it, homeboy. (http://www.datingsitedisasters.com/)

  When people honk at me, I cry inside.  Hey, I’ve been known to get an ugly outside cry going over it, too, especially if it’s on a day my son couldn’t find matching shoes on his way out the door to school or his green folder or his “home reader” or if he doesn’t want to brush his teeth or if he whines too much as I comb his hair or if my little one says he’s killed his diaper as we are walking out the door.  So, depending on my mood and whether or not Neneh Cherry is on the radio, I will switch from the Buffalo Stance to the Ninja Stance if I’m feeling particularly sassy and aggressive.  Honking, to me, says,


I only honk (only lightly tap, actually) my horn when the person in front of me has been sitting at the green light for the length it would take to watch Titanic twice in a row.   Once I’ve done it, I feel like a fresh rabbit turd and try to make amends with the driver by trying to toss a note of apology on my “K” stationery when we meet up at lights or when we are going 75 mph neck and neck on the interstate. 

Here’s an unfortuate exchange I had not too long ago with someone who sat at the light as long as it would take the slowest reader you can remember from elementary school to get through War & Peace.  I honked at the little lady and caught up with her on the road to apologize for my insensitivity:

“HEY!!!  I’ve got something for ya!!!  Yeah!  You remember me?  I was the lady in your rearview mirror about 35 miles back!!  I honked at you, well, LIGHTLY TAPPED at you, and, well, I just feel like a piece of aardvark dung for doing that when I know you would have eventually seen that light yourself.  Anyway, I’d like for you to catch this note of apology I scratched out on the top of my steering wheel.  Forgive the bumps!  They need to make steering wheels like mini-desks, right?  Put a pencil sharpener right by the radio.   Wouldn’t that be awesome?  Yes, yes…oh, I see.  Okay, you’ve got to get to the Emergency Room because your arm was severed when you were making a smoothie this morning.  Wow!!  Is that right??  Hey, well, I guess so as that IS a lot of blood you got on your front seat and, well, looky there, you are missing a big chunk of your arm.  Maybe you were wiping that blood up when you were sitting at the light?  Well, listen, I don’t want to keep you anymore.  You really have got to get going before you lose any more blood and di–  Ma’am?  MA’AM?!?!”

My husband and I OFTEN have discussions about when and how to use the horn.  He says horns are meant to be used.  When someone is acting the fool on the street, he feels it is his job to alert everyone in his vicinity that Mr. DrivesReallyBad has arrived, including Mr. DrivesReallyBadHe REALLY alerts everyone, naw mean?  Where my horn/tap might be like this “beep!”, his have been known to sound a little like this “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  You think I’m lyin’?  When this occurs, I somehow manage to exit the car, no matter how fast it is moving, and situate myself right under the oil pan.  After I cuddled with the oil pan last time, I have been able to tell that he is exercising tremendous restraint and not honking as he normally would, which, in my mind, is basically showing love to me.  It’s almost as if he is giving me a lifetime supply of KitKats (my favorite!), a gift card to Barnes & Noble and sitting with me through Justin Bieber’s movie “Never Say Never” every time he doesn’t let Mrs. FartsAroundMakingARightHandTurn have it with the horn.

Are you a hooker, I mean, honker?
(I am so sorry about that one.)


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