Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Don't Be a Masshole

Unlike my mother who exhibited supernatural powers-- tired of waiting for the bus, she would simply light a fresh cigarette and it came right away--I feel powerless most of the time. After all, since I've tried and failed to lose five pounds for three years, what chance have I of making anything else happen? But then there are those times when I am certain that for a split second, which is about how long each of us gets in the way of personal attention, God sees me and only me and something I prayed for actually happens--or doesn't. My latest proof of God's existence came in the form of the total lack of snow following my purchase of snow shoes, something I'd been planning to do since moving here but never did. Finally, about two weeks ago, on a cold and blustery Saturday with snow in the forecast, Mitch and I plunked down the considerable cash for two pairs, and with that kicked off a warming trend. Now there's melting snow as far as the eye can see, and I heard tomorrow will be in the low 60s. Our snow shoes remain virginal.

See, I did that. Yeah yeah, I know all about global warming, so I take things personally when I shouldn't. This is a common flaw of all humans, resulting in the ubiquitous anger and road rage so rampant today. But honestly, things are much more civil up here in Maine, where somebody in a passing car makes an obscene gesture only about once a month, not three times a day like back in D.C. Still, when it happens, it hurts.

Today it did happen, and with little provocation as usual, since the people who do that are actually mad at something else going haywire in their lives and seeking a handy sponge to absorb their anger. My "crime" was looking down while stopped at a red light, making me A.W.O.L. at the exact moment the red light turned green. Naturally I tried to make up for these lost nanoseconds by stepping on the gas immediately, but still the guy behind me, who had honked, flipped me the bird as he passed. I thought his behavior was uncalled for and took some small comfort in his Massachusetts license plate. Around these parts they're called "Massholes," and believe me, it can be an apt description.

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