Dear Triathlete,
Hi, it's me, the large angry girl in the small shitty car. You may recall seeing me in your rearview mirror while you were driving down highway nine towards Santa Cruz on Sunday. Remember? I was the one riding your ass while distorting my face into hideous contortions and beating my forehead against the steering wheel. I'd like to talk to you about a few things that concerned me during our thiry-two minute jaunt through the redwoods. Let's start with my first issue: your athleticism. Actually, not so much your athleticism, it's more in the way you assert it. I'm assuming you're pretty into physical fitness. How did I guess? Well, the first clue was your "TRIATHLETE: SWIM. BIKE. RUN." license plate frame - a must-have for any serious competitor, I'm sure. Judging by your Ironman bumper sticker, you are REALLY into triathlons. Good for you. Wait a minute, what's that? Oh my God, it's ANOTHER bumper sticker. Wow cool, the evolution of man portrayed by a swimmer, biker, and runner. You must have paid a pretty penny for that one!
Sorry, that came off a little sarcastic. I probably would have enjoyed the triathlete paraphenalia more if I hadn't been forced to stare at it for a full thirty-two minutes. Yes, thirty-two minutes. That is how long it took me to drive from my house to my church. It has never taken me anywhere near that long before. Do you know why I usually get to church in less than thirty-two minutes? I think it probably has to do with the fact that I go faster than twenty-five miles per hour. I know, call me crazy, but I make it a priority to do at least the speed limit on any given road, usually even a few (meaning 10+) miles per hour faster! Also, if I ever have a line of three or more cars behind me (which I don't, ever, but let's be hypothetical here), I pull over to let them pass! I'm sure you were too busy adjusting your balls in your Speedo to notice, but at one point there were EIGHT cars behind you! I even had time to count them because you were going so slow I didn't even have to watch the road anymore!
Anyway, Triathlete, sorry to get so down on you. Next time you see someone tailgaiting you and ripping out their hair in frustration, or perhaps even crying a little, you should probably pull over and let them pass; otherwise, so help me God, I will not hesitate to hunt you down and let all the air out of your bike tires at your next triathlon.
Sincerely Yours,
Vanessa
