I know I’ve ranted about this before. This blog is bound to offend lots of people, but it needs to be said. There is something wrong with women driving minivans. Their rage knows no bounds.
I’ve been a runner for years. I’m not fast, but I can go a long way for a long time. I love it. It keeps me sane. Sometimes, I’ll be running along and the sun will break through the clouds, something really spectacular will shuffle through on my earplugs and I will have to try very hard not to break into song and dance right there on the road. When I run, my heart, like the Grinch, grows three sizes. I love everyone. I become euphoric. I love the transvestite on the corner. I love the old men watering their lawns, fat lazy beagles by their sides. I wave at women waiting by their mailboxes for the school bus to bring their babies home. I love that the UPS lady always grins and yells “you’re crazy, girl!”. I grin like a fool at passing cars. I find my brain works faster and I think about a million things at once. In other words, I get happy.
The one thing, other than pitt bulls surprising me on the road, that really harshes my mellow, is women, usually driving the dreaded minivan.
I know they’re pissed off by this. Surely they are in transportation hell. I sympathize with them because this cannot be a good environment. These are angry women, late to girl scouts, with pads of paper stuck to their dash boards, mom jeans and sensible haircuts. Their vehicles are decorated with those most hated little stickers on their windows, you know the ones, with the little stick figures depicting the entire family, what sport their kids play (dear Lord, most likely Upward sports where no one loses and there is no score) and mouse ears if they’ve been to Disney World. For some reason these women refuse to share the road. I know this must surely be a documented fact that other runners have noted.
Several times I’ve been forced to jump into a ditch because one of these mommys believes the road is hers and hers alone. They refuse to budge and inch. Happened again just today. Their mouths set in a grim line, their backs hunched over the steering wheel, whirlwinds of papers, worksheets and wipes whipping around their heads in a tornado created by the air conditioner cooling them in their overheated PTA sweatshirts.
This doesn’t happen with any other demographic. A man, for instance, would never do this. Southern men, especially. A southern man is usually driving a truck for one thing. He’s driving slowly and looking for any good excuse to waste some time. The average southern man will slow down and do an exaggerated double take. Not getting a good enough look, he will then examine a female runner through his side window. He’ll wave, shout something, and move as far over into the other lane as possible to give her room. That’s because, even if a southern man is trying his best to get a glimpse of a side boob, he will remain polite because his mama taught him how. He will then continue to check out the rear view all while ensuring the runner is safe. How many times has a man stopped when I’ve been in a tight spot with a dog that won’t leave me alone and he’s gallantly stayed until I was safely by? Lots of times. Not too long ago I was really in a bad place and tried to wave a woman down to help me. She slowed, observed my situation and then just drove on. What the heck?
A southern man will usually give a good wave, a whoo-hoo, or even a damn, baby, all while smiling and wishing you well. Since I’ve gotten old, I don’t get the whoo-hoo or the damn, baby all that much. I’m sorry for all the times I looked disdainfully at someone hooting and hollering. It’s kinda sad when it’s over.
My point here is that someone should be looking at these minivan driving moms for unsolved crimes. I can see that they’re furious. They’re pushy and they darn sure don’t want any other women exercising or feeling good about themselves. They have formed an army that uses the innocuous titles that slip by unnoticed. PTA, Homeschooling Moms Association, Team Moms. Don’t be fooled by this. They’re out there, they’re angry, and they already own the roads.