March 29, 2010

  • Yield and Void

    I believe that even more important than healthcare is a national review of what traffic signs mean. Because I appear to be the only one over the age of three or so reading them (S-T-O-P! That says STOP! 3yo's love traffic signs!).

    Today I yielded, then went when it was clear. The person on the other side of the road, with the same instructions, paused, evaluated the occupied lane, and decided she was more important. Then, realizing her error, decided to try my lane. Happily, she was driving a Mustang, so I knew to be ready for nonsense.

    At this precise moment, Rone made a bizarre noise. So while I'm looking for room to dodge the idiot that doesn't involve a concrete barrier, I'm also trying to sort out what is wrong with him. Turns out he's panicked, not because Mom is swerving around, but because Cotton is throwing up. And throwing up. And then more throwing up. She's much calmer about Rone about it, though, because she's chosen this 90 second segment of time to be as helpful as she can. While throwing up.

    So I try to explain to Rone that yelling won't help, while yelling at the idiot in front of me who has now slowed from 50 to 15 to ponder the entrance to the Wal-mart. Decision made, she now speeds off, only to stop short at the Chick-FilA (Cotton is beginning to seem irritated with the stop-and-go) where the Noontime Nugget Rush has taken a strong hold on the entrance, which is 2 cars wide. Which makes the third car, stuck in the middle thinking he's going to pass, very angry and beepy.

    We pause a moment to admire the crazy, then move on to the bank parking lot, far away from both the chicken frenzy and the Mustang, to mop up as best we can with some baby wipes. Rone doesn't throw up from the smell, Cotton doesn't cry too much, and we all head carefully home, obeying all the traffic signs.

    Yield. The triangle one. It's even for Mustangs, people.