Ass Rider

Dear Driver of the White Ford Pick-up on I-5:

I had the priveledge of meeting you as you rode my ass all the way from Portland to Salem this morning. That's 50 miles, buddy. Apparently it was not good enough for you that I got over many times to let you in front of me. But did you speed up to stake your claim as the sole proprietor of the fast lane? Why no, you kept going the very same speed as before, not even passing by me. This is when I came to the conclusion that you have some sort of sick fascination with the smell of my ass. Somehow, I wound up in front of you again. The smell of my ass must really intrigue you because you proceeded to shove your nose up there the duration of my drive. I don't think 80 miles per hour is too slow in a 60 mph zone. But you had to show off your manly self, with your gun rack & I heart beef bumper sticker. And did you see me tapping my brakes every once in a while as you rode my ass? No, there were no cars in front of me slowing down. I was spelling out ASSHOLE in morse code.

I so hope I get the pleasure again tomorrow morning. I can't wait to "accidentally" spill my giant mug of coffee out the window strategically towards your general direction.

All my best,
Ass girl