But enough about your hair. I'd like to talk about what you were thinking. I'm going to tell you what I think you were thinking based on what you did and you correct me if I'm wrong, OK?
|Now people will treat me with the respect I deserve!|
And I know you saw me coming.
And I know you heard me honking my horn at you.
And I know you assumed because you're an egotistical black woman in a big SUV that you can just bully other drivers and they'll cower before you, because you ignored the fact that I was there and honking and you just tried to bull through me, leaving it for me to figure out a way to get out of your way, even though "your way" was driving diagonally across the clearly marked lanes of the parking lot.
And I honked and stayed in my own lane and wasn't at all intimidated by you or your stupid plastic SUV bumper that you were more than willing to kill me with.
And you hit me.
|What the fuck were you thinking??!!|
But you know what really got me about all of this? It was that even after you hit me, and were totally and completely at fault, you still went ahead and parked in the space you were so anxious to get.
|Am I inside the lines?|
And it wasn't even a good parking space. I mean, there was nothing special about that space. It wasn't all that close. But you wanted it so badly that you literally rammed into the side of me in order to get it.
|You better move, pole!|
You're lucky I have a much bigger crisis in my life to worry about. I honestly didn't care that much that you hit me. I mean, I think you were a totally narcissistic shit for what you did, but beyond that I really didn't care. I was driving my old car, the one I tried to trade in after buying a new car only to be offered less than the price of the tires on the car for it, so it wasn't as if I was crying over the marks on my car. Your plastic SUV pretend-bumper didn't even dent my good old American metal so I figure I can buff out most of the marks you left.
And mostly I just don't care.
|I don't even care|