idle

I’m not really a nice woman, which is totally okay, because I’m not trying to be. I’d like to be thought of as kind and honest, but nice women clutch their pearls and say Bless Your Heart and then they die when their ulcers explode. I’ll be ulcer free.

There are people I will never like, there are first impressions I simply cannot recover from. At one point in time I tried to talk myself out of these kinds of snap judgements, but then I realized they served me well.

I don’t like Range Rover drivers in Los Angeles. I know there are regions where a Range Rover is a practical choice, but Los Angeles is not one of them. If you have elected to spend six figures on a car you have options and one of those options is to not buy a disgusting behemoth that screws up parking lots, visibility and the planet. They’re gauche and I didn’t have to teach my kids to not respect you. The kids at half a dozen schools in LA know they’re the vehicle of choice for selfish people.

I don’t like idlers. The carpool lines are a fact of life here in the City of Angels. Moms (and nannies) drive to the school, wait in the line, grab their charges precious cargo and drive off into the sunset. I totally understand not wanting to park your car a whole block away, getting out of the car and then tottering along in 4″ wedgies walking to the school to fetch your kids. I really do understand this. What I don’t understand is why you must idle your car five feet away from where our children are playing. What is so difficult about turning the engine off and rolling the windows down? When did your comfort trump my child’s right to breathe clean air?