Me to me: “Are you shitting me? You were just hanging around the house and thought, “let me write some jacked up crap on my car window so I can drive through traffic and see how many honks I can get?”
(Don’t look at the license plate.)
(I don’t know why. I guess for security reasons?)
(I ain’t blacking it out. Put your finger over it. Or a piece of duct tape.)
Yep. I honked. More because she was putting on her lipstick in the mirror and didn’t get moving when the traffic started up than for the fact I heart “weiner dog.”
(I don’t actually heart them. Or the one she’s possibly referring to. I don’t even know the one she’s talking about. But I don’t hate them. Or that one. Regardless…you know I honked.)
I get a little further up the road, pass a cop with his radar gun out and pointed at BARELY MOVING traffic, and I once again say:
Me to me: “Are you shitting me? Dude, really.”
And then see this:
However, I never saw the sign that said, “Lots of cars up there just dicking around and driving really slow in the left lane.”
Nope. Never saw THAT sign. But I did get the “Dry Paint Ahead” sign.
Because I needed to know there was dry paint ahead.
I do have to admit, I love the signs life gives me. I do. I just wish I could get some that popped up at just the right time that maybe said:
Fussy teenager inside. Turn and run away now.
Get off Facebook. The boss is coming.
Do not curse now. For the love of God, you’re in the church parking lot, loser.
Do not bark at your husband. You’ll be feeling all jackass-y for much longer than you will admit.
Stay away from that delicious piece of cake. Your skirts are getting tight and the icing is going to stain your blouse when you drop it on your boobs, anyway.
Pee now. Trust me, fool.