You can’t take the Hamilton out of the Heather

This weekend I had a bit of a flare up of my righteous indignation. Along with my pointy chin it’s something I inherited from my father. My brother inherited it as well, and after meeting him for the first time Jon said he could only accurately describe him in one word: Blustery.

Jon and I were trying to pull out of the parking lot at Costco into a lane that turns left immediately. We waited and waited for an opening and after what seemed like an unfair amount of time to wait — this is America, and why should we wait for anything? You make me wait and I have the constitutional right to shoot you — we pulled into the far right lane, a lane clearly marked as RIGHT TURN ONLY, and we turned left anyway.

We didn’t harm any small animals or starving children, we didn’t even remove a feeding tube. In fact, we didn’t inconvenience anyone in any way with our small violation of the law of the land, but this guy in a Ford something or other GOT ALL UP IN OUR GRILL ABOUT IT. He made his engine roar and then snarled and waved his fist in the air surely thinking to himself, “How do those people think they can get away with that and still inherit the blessings of the Lord?”

Since Jon had both hands on the wheel I took it upon myself to do what was called for, the only proper reaction in this type of situation, and I stuck out my middle finger so he could clearly see it’s bony structure. I was so mad that he was mad at us because we in no way infringed on his left-turning abilities.

“I HATE it when people get mad like that,” I told Jon.

Jon blinked and then pointed out, “Do you see the hypocrisy in that statement?”

“But he provoked me.”

“We provoked him.”

“But he provoked me.”