Oh, Los Angeles driver, I love you so.
Your need to weave in and out of lanes for no apparent reason makes me tingle with delight.
Please, drive faster. I insist. There is no need to pace yourself when going between Point A and Point B. It's not like hundreds of lives hang in the balance!
In L.A., you have to look the part. I can't explain how heartwarming it is to see fellow young ladies touching up their lipgloss or curling their eyelashes while deftly avoiding the elderly pedestrians strolling across the road.
No, no. Take that call on your Blackberry. I don't mind at all! It's got to be very important. I mean, it must've been, considering it caused you to make that unprotected left turn quickly enough to beat all the pedestrians who, silly enough, saw the little green walk man and thought it was their turn.
We should have known it was YOUR turn. We're lowly walking folk and you, sir, drive a Lincoln Navigator. Please, don't look back, even if you DID almost make roadkill out of me. It's totally cool. I didn't need my toes anyway.
LA drivers, this is my tribute to you.
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