The Press Girl

So, today a pretty little journalist took exception to my having overtook her when the bloody beatch was not moving and blocking the bloody traffic. (Yeah, two bloody. Why do people have to go at snail’s pace? If there is a lorry in front, don’t follow it people. Go around it.) So she came honking after me, and I forgot about the minor nuisance after a time, so off she comes after a kilometer, mouthing something. Yelling something. Couldn’t hear the sweet little voice since the window was up.

Well, I am not one to pass up compliments even if I don’t hear it. So I showed her my dainty little middle finger to show I was not spoken for and she should give me a call sometime and we can catch up over coffee. I think I was probably not her type. So she tried to block me.

Well, no one blocks me, blockhead. And I was in a pretty good mood, so I gave her all the attention she needed. I have a feeling my co-passenger might be looking out for alternate modes of transport though. She must have had some scares and she even missed her bus as I was so preoccupied with my new best friend.

Nice start to the day! Maybe I was a bit prejudiced with the PRESS sign, as I think all the journalists are egomaniacs or something. I usually give a wide berth to other women drivers out there. But then she came asking for it.