Why I Hate Driving

It’s not so much that I hate driving. (Though I loved living in Boston where I could rely on public transit for about 90% of my transportation needs). I hate the bad drivers. The ones who are just totally reckless for no reason. Now, the street our house is on is off of a “main” street. I have to put that in quotations because it’s the middle of nowhere up here, and “main” is, of course, relative. At any rate, I’m not positive what the speed limit is, but I’m going to guess it’s around 50. That’s plenty fast for a road that isn’t a highway. Now, I usually drive around 55 when I’m on it. I was coming back from the post office a little while ago (mailed out my package for the Autumn Dishcloth Exchange) and this guy was driving right up my butt. Why? It was making me crazy. Luckily I was close to our street and as soon as I put on my blinker he flew around me and sped away. I can’t stand it. I don’t care if you have the best radar detector in the world, there is just no reason for driving like that. Make me crazy.

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