Road Rage

It's always a joy running the four lane route from the city to the lake.

Hubby's rolling along not so fast in the fast lane.

Lights illuminate the backs of our heads. A truck is almost glued to our license plate.

Uh, hon, you might want to get in the middle lane...?

What for?

Well...that truck looks like he's gonna run us over. It might be prudent...?

If he wants to get ahead, he can go around us!

Well...how 'bout you pull over one lane, let him through....?

I'm driving in this lane cuz the middle lane closes down up ahead.

[yeah, in 3 or 4 kilometers...the truck careens around us on the right as we lollygag in the fast lane. I'm sure a saw a finger behind the muddy windshield]

Well...if he'd been doing this to you, you'd probably be mad as Hell. You hate people who do what you're doing. You were probably giving that trucker road rage...

Why the Hell do you always criticize my driving?

I'm not criticizing. I'm just asking. You'd do the same to me if our seats were reversed.

Silence reigns as the radio plays "Joy to the World!"