Being Angelenos, we're in the car kind of a lot. I try to walk as
much as possible, and sometimes days go by without having to saddle-up
the wagonista, but lately, we've been in the car a lot. Holiday
shopping aside, everywhere is so festive this time of year, not to
mention the fact that it's actually cold here right now. Like, in the
low 60s by day which is so much fun and also, hilarious, because the
minute the temperature drops below 65, fur-lined hunting caps and
parkas come out like nobodies business. And I'm just as guilty of this,
lemme tell you. I collect coats like most women collect shoes. I would
bet I have a good dozen vintage coats I've never worn before... Which
is sad. And has nothing to do with Road Rage. But being in the car
quite often these days, does. So let me get back to business, here:
Being in the car means enduring assholes on the go means getting a
little peeved behind the wheel means the occasional cuss word or angry
remark.
"Oh, Shit!" I said, several mornings ago on
our way to Archer's preschool (he starts in January but we've been
doing practice-runs twice a week in the mornings so he can acclimate
and I can feel comfortable with the whole sending-my-baby-to-preschool
thing.)
I thought nothing of it until... "Oooh! Shit!"
I
did what I have been advised to do by parent-friends with similar
potty-mouths. I ignored it. Acted like "shit" was no big deal. Turned
up the music. Offered Archer a cracker. Dum-di-dum-dum, nothing to hear, here!
Archer: listening. Always listening...
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