Dear Lady Who Rear-Ended Me (and Then Fled the Scene),
I’m sorry rush hour traffic is so heinous. We all hate it, you’re not alone.
I’m sorry I merged in front of you with a perfectly acceptable distance of approximately four car lengths between us; that obviously wasn’t enough warning for you and your handicap-signed SUV.
I’m sorry that your twisted, minuscule brain perceived this to be an act of gross injustice on my part.
I’m sorry you felt led to tailgate me to the point where had you been any further up my ass you would have been….well, nevermind. No need to get gross.
I’m sorry I didn’t notice the ragey look in your haggard old lady eyes or consider the fact that your vision was likely failing, and realize that I should have paid you more heed.
I’m sorry that you felt the need to keep inching closer and closer and clooooooser to my innocent little Hyundai when I stopped at the red light.
I’m sorry that you had a mini heart attack when you finally hit my bumper and instantly realized your immense wrongdoing. I’m not sorry, however, that I relished watching your terror in my rearview mirror.
I’m sorry that you clearly had somewhere better to be than the Ross parking lot, where I politely gestured for you to please pull over so we could talk and exchange insurance information, and that you failed to do so. I’m sorry you’re an awful human and see no problem committing hit-and-run vehicular crimes.
And lastly, I’m not even a little bit sorry for writing down your license plate and reporting your crime to the Dallas Police Department. What’s that they say about karma…? Sorry, I’m a little distracted. I’m busy talking to the officer who’s going to track your ass down.
The Wife in Training