Letter To Anonymous, #001

Dear “Career Woman”,

I can’t believe you actually cut me off as we’re heading to the church parking lot to drop our children off. Out of all the irritating behaviors my fellow drivers can exhibit, a soccer mom in an SUV who refuses to make eye contact as she darts out in front of me from my left is relatively infuriating. I stare disbelieving, looking to you for the reconciliatory duck of the head and limp wave: “Sorry, I fucked up!” But no. No remorse.

I park about thirty feet away from you and watch as you briskly order your children out of the vehicle. I am not even going to take the time to mock your “wash & wear” 1988 long skirt suit complete with shoulder pads, your ash-blonde highlights in a pre-Friends mullet-y shag, and mid-90’s Roxy-esque ho heels, because that would be a low blow and – more to the point – I’m dressed in men’s 501s with a dyke-y ponytail and toddler snot on my shirt. You do, despite your fashion handicaps, look sharp, well-groomed, and in charge as you stride purposefully up the steps, your American-fat children scurrying five feet behind you. You stay about thirty seconds and rush off to whatever “important” job you have waiting for you – my guess is either a teller window in a bank or a receptionist’s desk in a medical building.

For four days while we pick up and drop off our children, you circle the room avoiding contact with me. The first two days I am seething. Part of me thinks if I have balls I will confront you with, “Excuse me, that really bothered me that you cut me off Tuesday”, or more bitchily, “Do you know how right-of-way works?” But I don’t. Mostly because I can’t figure out why I let your alpha-mom behavior piss me off so much. I keep my silence and, when no recourse is offered by you, vow to blog about your lame ass later.

However, I am probably doing you a disservice. It would probably be best for you to learn one day soon that just because you can drive criminally to get the crucial edge and get your little darlings to day camp fifteen seconds earlier than I did, doesn’t mean you should. Maybe if I’d said something you would consider other drivers once in a while. Or at least have the chance to say “I’m sorry” – which is all I’m looking for.

My God, to think people move to this town to escape this kind of suburban aggression and assholian disregard for others.

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