class A asshole.

I'm a dick. I assumed the worst about someone. Namely, my brother-in-law. Turns out, he was defending another person when he got cold-cocked by the (small college) town fuckwad and cracked his skull and almost died. And I assumed he was antagonizing someone.

I'm an asshole.

I'm so glad he's alive. So goddam glad.

Oh, and speaking of class, this morning, in an attempt to rush through a right-hand-turn with a signal attached to it, the guy in front of me refused to pull up LITERALLY six inches so I could narrowly angle through between his car and the one parked near me on the curb. I honked, and he turned and yelled at me. I demonstrated, with clever use of finger-gestures, the distance I required to sneak through and turn right. He yelled some more and turned back to face the intersection. I honked again. He turned and yelled again, more violently this time, and I showed him, again, quite patiently, I thought, how far I needed him to inch forward in order to move along my required route. He yelled some more. I shrugged in acquiesence and squeaked through the minute allowance of space. By this time, he'd rolled down his window (I assume in order to give me some more information about just why he couldn't possibly pull his car forward a few inches), and I spoke back, with more finger gesturing. Just the one finger, though.

I did this in front of my little boy. Who said, mommy, but THE LIGHT! IS! RED!, and who apparently didn't notice my nonverbal communique to the other driver regarding where he could go, because I'm certain he'd have said it in a perfect loop for the rest of the (albeit brief) drive to his school. Mommy!, WHY DID YOU POINT WITH YOUR FINGER AT HIM LIKE THAT? MOMMY, IT'S NOT NICE TO POINT WITH YOUR FINGER AT PEOPLE, MOMMY. Etc.

See? All class.

Sigh.