I should know better

I'm about as tough as The Jonas Brothers.

Is that why people want to kick my butt?

My friend Ange likes to share a story of us back in school. After a basketball game when the girls had cleaned the floor with the home team, one of the especially violent and outspoken players from McAlister was a tad miffed. (She talked smack to our girls all night, so I suspect she had anger management issues to begin with.) We were waiting around for the boys to finish up in the locker room so that we could get on the bus and go home. For some reason, she picked Ange--the superstar basketball player--and me--a not-very-tough girl in a cheerleader uniform--to voice her rage. When Ange asked if she was talking to her, the girl made it clear she wanted to kick my butt.

?!

I could dance the fight song, throw some high kicks, and wiggle my spirit fingers, but I was no fighter. Since she had no other motivation for singling me out, she must have known this. This bully simply wanted to fight.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and waved.

Although Ange remembers all the details, I just remember being thankful we had a lot of bleachers between us and that we got on the bus without anyone getting hurt.

Geez. Some people are so touchy. All I did was wave.

Years later, my mother and I were finishing up some last minute details for my wedding. We pulled out of a parking lot onto Northwest Expressway in Oklahoma City when a sporty green car turned and almost rammed into us. Mind you, I was totally in my lane. A bleach blonde with the expensive manicure whizzed by us and flipped me off.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and waved.

I guess she saw me. Immediately, she backed up her car, leapt out of it and pounced on mine. Yes, that's right. She was on my car. Her palms whacked the glass so hard I thought she might break it. I was in shock. Who does this sort of thing? Well, she wasn't through with merely attacking my car. She also attacked me by beating the car to the rhythm of her words: "You stupid white trash b****!"

Really. She did.

I laughed in response. The situation was ridiculous. As she repeated this attack like a mantra, I figured she really didn't have a clue as to what she was doing, so I pulled a serious face and pointed my finger at me and mouthed, "Me? I'm the white trash?" then I pointed at her pounding on my car on one of the busiest streets in Oklahoma City and shook my head at her as if I felt sorry for her--which, for the record, I did. This enraged her even though I'm pretty sure she couldn't hear my tsk,tsk, tsk-ing. My mom tried to get her license plate as she drove away, but I hope the crazy girl learned her lesson--because all I really needed to do was tap my brake and she would have eaten pavement in heavy traffic.

Very dangerous.

So I should have known better yesterday. Max was officially four weeks old, and I officially had severe cabin fever. When Garrett got home, I kissed my hubby and baby before hopping in the car. Running errands had never seemed so decadent.

On the way there I put on my turn signal to switch lanes. A white SUV that was a considerable distance away actually sped up instead of slowing down. Then the driver had the audacity to honk at me as she cut me off. And then we were at a stop light. I flung my hands up and yelled at her. (Yes, I admit this was not appropriate road behavior, but I hadn't been out of the house in days and she was ruining my happy vibe by almost killing me.) Anyway, I yelled, "What? Didn't you see my signal? Was it so hard not to run me over?"

Um. Apparently.

She rolled down the window and flung her hands up in mockery. My first thought was Oh no she didn't. My next was Okay. I deserve it because I behaved just as stupidly as she.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and started laughing.

No waving. I'd learned my lesson.

The back window rolled down and a head popped out giving me a glare. I laughed harder because, really, how ridiculous was it for everyone to be so riled up? Another head popped out to scowl at the crazy lady, and the window rolled down more to reveal the SUV was filled with females with attitude. A group of tough looking men wouldn't have made me think about going elsewhere the way this realization did because everyone knows a group of mean girls are the worst things on the planet. The light couldn't change quickly enough. I grinned and shrugged, hoping they wouldn't smell my fear.

Unfortunately, we all had plans to go to Target. When I realized they thought I was following them--the speeding up and then quick braking clued me in--I veered off to another store first.

What would I have done if I'd met them in the aisle at Target somewhere between Halloween candy and cereal?

Yeah, you're right. I probably would have smiled and waved.