Exiled to the Pointless Forest

Dear Mr. Dodge Ram 1500;

I understand that I seemed to be going relatively slow this morning; and I could tell by the way you sped around me, spitting slush from your spinning wheels, at the first straight stretch on the road that you were irritated by my cautious approach to this mornings seven-inch snowfall. I understand that you perhaps see your large truck as an outward reflection of your very own testicles, but there is something you should know about me: I am a Midwest girl. I grew up learning to drive a tractor out on the “back 40”. I had to take a drivers test in mid-January in NW Illinois with a stick shift car. I drove in Michigan ice storms to get home for Thanksgiving, and I my father taught me (well, I may add) that 4-wheel drive does not mean 4-wheel stop. I understand, sir, that from your perspective, I must look like a typical, fleece-clad PacNW girl in her Honda Pilot, and that you think I cannot drive in snowy winter conditions.

But I think that we both know, now, as I passed you just minutes later as you stared at your beloved Dodge Ram 1500 in the ditch at the next curve in the road, a little more information about me. I can drive in the snow, because I am a Midwest girl. And clearly you should consider yourself lucky that I am too much of a lady to either flip you the bird or roll down my window and shout, “What now, bitch?”. No, I did what any modern Midwest woman would do, slow down to offer help, smile, and then think to herself as she drove off, “I am so posting this on FB…”