The proof's in the puddin'

I've denied my moderate road rage for quite some time. Most often, this occurs when my entire little family is in the car while I'm driving (usually as my husband reaches defensively toward his seat belt, making sure it is as secure as it should be).

I honestly felt that I was justified in my clever comments aimed at other vehicles on the road. I mean really, when the light is green, that means GO! If someone out there is trying to make a left turn out of a straight-bound lane, any law-abiding citizen should be letting them know of their mistake. And if there is an extremely rare horn honk now and then? They just deserved it, gosh darn it!

Here's the problem, though. Avery and I have been in the car together quite a bit lately (without my overly-dramatic, argumentative husband). The past three times my son and I have been in the car, stopped at a red light (with cars ahead of us), I've heard this statement hollered from the back seat:


"GO, DUDE!"


Yeesh.

1. Who knew I sounded like a washed-up surfer?

2. I hate it when my husband's right!