Thank you

Thank you, Mr. preppy looking overly-tanned SUV driver who tailgated me on 465.

Thank you for laughing as you revved your engine and nearly bumped me. Your buddy in the passenger seat sure thought it was funny.

Thank you for weaving around behind me like you were on the final lap at Talladega.

But MOST OF ALL… thank you for not seeing the motorcycle state cop over the rise with that radar gun.

Thank you for zooming past me at 80+ mph when I slowed and got out of the fast lane.

And ThankYouThankYouThankYou for not pulling over when he motioned for you to pull over, forcing him to get on his motorcycle and chase you down for five miles in front of all of us. I’m sure he was VERY pleasant when you finally pulled over.

So… dickweed… Thank You.

Thank you very much.

Terrified. Clearly.

Me: “I swear by all that is holy if you kids don’t stop fighting…I’ll do something really horrible.”

Little Miss Thing, age 4: “Like what?”

Me: “I don’t know. But it will be really, really horrible.”

Danger Monkey, age 7: “How horrible?”

Me: “I don’t know. Pretty horrible. Maybe I will break you over my knee.”

LMT: “Break me first. I have a wand that will fix it. Seriously. It works.”