There's an intersection on my short commute home that requires me to wait at a traffic light were several minutes. That’s several dangerous minutes for me to sit and stew in anticipation of what nearly always happens when it's my turn to go. For this particular intersection on a State highway, some ingenious engineer, apparently one with a sadistic sense of humor, decided that the flow of traffic from the south, east, and west should be controlled by a light, but let's allow the nice folks coming from the north to decide for themselves if they should recognize the yield sign governing their traffic flow. I can tell you, without hesitation, that most of them, especially those in a hurry to get to their Hummers back down country, don't yield.

To make things worse, they tend to respond to my lightflashing, horn-honking, tailgating rage with a hand gesture. You'd think they could at least apologize for their ignorance by waving with their entire hand . . . they’re number one with me too! Makes me wish I still owned that rusty old F350 with a heavy duty bumper handcrafted from 2 by 10 rough cut hemlock.

The other folks that make my blood percolate a bit are the young drivers who are so important that they can't get out of their own driveway without restoring contact with the other important people of the wireless world.

So there I sit, at a stop sign waiting my turn, when around the corner, turning left in front of me, is a multi-tasking, 20- year-old mother. I can tell she’s a mom because of the "Caution— Baby on Board" sign in her side window. She negotiates the corner, practically on two wheels and just misses my front bumper. She offers no hand gestures though, leaving me to wonder why. Is it because of the "Baby on Board" or is it that she has a phone in her left hand and a latté and the steering wheel in her right hand?

Is it just me . . . ?

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