I made the two hour trek to the grandparent's house this afternoon. Along the way, I marveled at the number of asshats out there driving pickup trucks. It's as if Ford dealerships have a certain set of asshat criterion which must be fulfilled before they'll sell you a truck. The pickup truck driver, as a species, has a blithe disregard for the rules of the road, and they have cumulatively made numerous attempts on my life, mostly via nearly swerving into me in a fit of asshat whimsy.

Further, if multiple guys are leaning out the window and hollering at me during a traffic jam, they are almost always driving a pickup truck. I imagine their conversation in the truck, pre-hollering, went something like this:

"Oh I say, old bean, there's a single female driver in traffic beside us!"

"How marvelous. Should one or the other of us yell at her, do you think?"

"I think that would be simply smashing. Just...do you think it would be entirely proper?"

"Well, faint heart never won fair lady, old chap!"

"Too true. All right, I'll give it a go. Ahem. HEY BABY, CAN I HIT THAT?!?!? CAN I HIT THAT?!?!?!"

"Oh how droll! Here, I'll try. DO YA THINK WE'RE HOT? DO YA?!?!"

"I am in stitches, my good fellow! But I'm running out of ideas."

"Well, that first thing you shouted was a bit of good."

"Capital! I'll reuse it. HEY BABY! CAN I HIT THAT??!?! CAN I HIT THAT?!?!?!"

"Who could resist our siren call, what what? Oh dear. Traffic is moving again."

"C'est la vie, old bean, c'est la vie."