Bitch-O-Phone

I am fanatical about not talking on the phone while driving. The last time I was on the phone while driving was a few weeks ago when I was lost, needed directions, and couldn’t pull over anywhere. Before that, it was so long ago that I can’t remember. I will curse a blue streak at anyone who commits a vehicular blunder while talking on the phone thanks to this neurotic fanaticism, which is why I was chagrined to find myself on the other end of a blue streak on Tuesday, when I made a rare exception to my own rule. I was on the phone at an intersection in my neighborhood, telling my mom the great news about Scott’s new job. Then I noticed that one of my favorite houses on that street is undergoing a very interesting renovation; I had seen piles of lumber in front of the house for a few days, but it seemed that overnight, two giant dormers were framed into the attic. It was utterly fascinating, and that is how I ended up in an unintentional game of chicken with the woman in the car at the opposing stop sign. As she turned left in front of me, she yelled at me – I’m not much of a lipreader, but I could make out the words “bitch” and “phone.” For a moment I considered following her so I could tell her that for one thing, I’m the last person who needs a lecture about the phone, and for another I wasn’t distracted by the phone I was distracted by the house, and if she really wants to let someone have it, she should go back to the intersection, and tell the people who own that house to stop putting on such an interesting addition in full view of people who are driving, dammit. Seriously. It’s a fucking hazard.