"Go, greased lightnin', you're burnin' up the quarter mile" --Grease

[I watched the movie version of Speed Racer on a flight last year. Slick animation but BORRRRRRRing. They could have--and should have--lopped about an hour off it.]


I can be an ass. No, no, I can.

The other day I am sitting at a light, minding my own business, working out a plan to solve the economic crisis. I was this close to putting all the pieces together--something about turning all the foreclosed properties into Starbucks and harnessing the awesome power of squirrels--when...

An Expedition pulls up next to me.

Then, the driver pulls up over the stop line.

Then, while the light is still red, the driver does a false start.

Do I need more? I do not.

I wasn't in a hurry before but I sure am now. I hit the S on my gear shift to change into Sport mode and watch the light like my life depends on it. I'll be damned if this behemoth is going to get ahead of me. When the light switches, I leave the Expedition in the dust.

Why?

A) It's a flippin' Expedition, fergawdssake. It's ridiculously big, expensive, gas guzzling, and slow and here's my opportunity to drive home that point. (See what I did there? Drive home... nevermind.)

B) Why not?

and

C) I'm an ass.

My first husband was an ass, too. I can vividly remember us missing our exit because he had to prove that he wasn't going to get beat out by a revving car at a toll booth. And we had my parents in the car. Oh, that was a proud moment.

At least I never missed an exit because of my assiness.

Well, not yet.

Can I help it if I need to express this side of me?

...express... espresso! Squirrels on espresso! I gotta call Bernanke!