Dear Fellow Motorist

“Well, if you weren't flirting with him"-his voice had now grown a little plaintive-"who was he, and what did you want with him anyway?"

"If you are so determined to bore me, I may just have to go home." Astrid sighed carelessly, "What a shame, when I am wearing such a pretty dress.”
― Anna Godbersen, Bright Young Things

Dear Fellow Motorist at the stoplight on Wendover Avenue this morning,

You seemed really nice.  And I do appreciate the honk, smile and the wave at the first stoplight.  I was excited to see such a friendly face and I waved back, happily.  And I liked the fact that you scrawled your phone number really big on that receipt and held it up to the window for me at the next light.  Was that YOUR phone number or was it the number of your crackhead brother who needs a womanly reason to get clean?  

Here's the thing, Fellow Motorist.  I was having a wonderful time singing along to "It's Raining Men."  I realize that you probably overheard me and were amused by my antics.  I responded to your friendly wave with a friendly wave of my own.  I wasn't actually flirting with you...I was just being...well...friendly!  And I think it's super fun that you wrote down that phone number for me.  But, I'm just not ready to dial up a complete stranger who may have a basement door with my name on it.  AND, you were driving a Volvo.  If that doesn't scream "I'm married with kids," then I need a hearing aid.  Save that drama for your mama (or your llama, whatever floats your boat), big guy.  

When I held up my hand to the window as a physical response to the offer of your digits, I thought I was wearing a ring today.  I wasn't.  My bad.  I suppose I COULD have extended my middle finger but that would have been very rude.  I was trying to pretend that I was in a committed relationship but that totally backfired on me and made me look even crazier than just a girl loudly singing "God bless Mother Nature...she's a single woman, too."   But, who knows, as far as you're concerned I could just have been getting some giant 4 carat ring cleaned.  Of course, given the current state of my vehicle, you would probably recognize that as a reach.  Let's just say 1/4 of a carat, then.  

If I were at all open to flirting and/or dating right now, I would have been thrilled with your approach.  Fun.  Different.  And, of course, your approach was far classier than that guy who followed me out of the Rhode Island rest area many years ago and held up a $100 bill while he motioned for me to take the next exit.  I am going to assume that he thought I was homeless and was exercising benevolence. What he was probably thinking was that I was a pole dancer earning my keep at one of those seedy clubs in the Groton area servicing poor displaced submariners.  Of course, I was a lot younger then and probably worth $100 at least.  And, you were way less freak-show-scary than that guy who saw me on Wendover Avenue a few years ago and followed me into the Mexican restaurant parking lot.  (I wonder what women who are REALLY pretty have to put up with?  Poor things!) Even so, I'm now reduced to a few scrawled numbers on the back of your Wal-Mart receipt.  

It all boils down to nothing other than you just made me miss the chorus: "It's raining men!  Hallelujah! It's raining men!  Amen!"  Ah well, I did come back and download it from iTunes because I was bummed at missing it so that works out pretty well for me in the end. 

I hope you and your wife enjoy your summer!  (Just a hint, if you DON'T currently have a wife, you really need to get rid of that Volvo.)  

Drive on!

Sincerely,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Singing/Dancing Whackjob

P.S. If all you wanted was to sign a record deal, please contact me ASAP!