Spring Hormonal Rage

The weather in NYC has been absolutely horrible for so long that people go effing nuts when it is finally nice out. This happens like clockwork every year, but this year seems to be particularly insane, perhaps because of the interminable winter. Who knows. Who cares. The point is that people are fucking nuts. And by people, I should really narrow that down to approximately half of the population. Even Tim has admitted that, like all other dudes, he gets spring fever. He's even been kind enough to get into explicit detail about bare nipples rubbing against silky dresses and stuff like that that I don't really want to hear. Anyway...

I WAS A VICTIM of Spring Hormonal Rage last night. It started with your typical hoots and hollers. Fine. Whatever. I'm old, I must admit I kind of enjoy a turn of the head and even a hoot once in a while. A holler is a bit much, but I guess it's nice to be noticed in any way at my old age. Things got progressively weirder and more aggressive as the night went on and a crazy man started laughing and screaming about how pornography has really changed since the 20's. Honestly, it was sort of funny and my two friends and I laughed about it for a while. When we parted ways and headed home, I was stalked for about fifteen blocks by a nice young man named Frank who had the hiccups. Frank was about 23 and not so great at chitchat and I finally had to say "Frank. You seem like a very nice guy, but I'm married and you live in Hoboken and it's just not going to work out for you with me tonight. I don't want to ruin your chances with someone else." I gave him a firm handshake and a leftover bottle of water for the hiccups and sent him on his merry way. I then made a strange decision to get on the subway. The strangest part is that nothing happened down there. Everything was still somewhat normal until I got to the Upper East Side and was crossing 86th St/ 2nd Ave when all of a sudden a car full of bridge and tunnel dudes tried to run over me. I was in the damn crosswalk and they sped at me. AT me. Little old me! When I gave them the finger, they pulled up beside me and yelled obscenities and laughed at me. I was furious as you can probably imagine and, fueled by wine and prosecco, I yelled back at them. Mistake! They tried to swerve at me, laughing and laughing and then they got stuck at the traffic light while I quickly stormed after them. I then made the fatal mistake of getting REALLY mad and seeing my opportunity to "get them" while they were stuck at the light, I ran like mad at the car, screaming "I hope you fucking die you fucking assholes." I honestly couldn't believe what I was saying or doing as I simultaneously threw my purse at the car in a rage. The best part was when I fell flat on my face in my heels and nice dress in the middle of Second Avenue with my purse in the middle of the road. Not one of my finer moments. I guess I sort of deserve the bloody knees for not being able to control my temper and dropping the F bomb so freely like that. Not very ladylike. It's probably not nice to wish death upon people either, but they sort of deserved it. My husband just called me an idiot when I told him the story. He's the best.

P.S. Stop your judging. I am fully aware my knees are fat.