And then, she finally got tired of living responsibly.

Hey, there, other drivers in my city.

You don't think I see you, but I do. I see you.

I see your frightened little faces in my rearview mirror as you stare at me, open-mouthed, while I drive over railroad tracks or a strangely enormous speed bump. I'm watching you, looking in horror at the bike bouncing around on the bike rack that appears to be attached to my trunk, although, it doesn't really look like it's attached to anything.

Guess what?

It isn't.

Can you see the 7,000 straps attached to the bike rack that are currently flying in the breeze? That's right. I can't figure out where they go. There are some black nubby things with some velcro straps on them that look like they would be helpful in holding the bike down, but seriously, I've tried securing that velcro three times, and it just doesn't stick to anything.

You think this bike rack came with a certification, or a class or something? Honey, I don't even know if it came with instructions. I certainly didn't read any. And that's why, as you drive behind me clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles, I'm giggling softly to myself, because I know something you don't know.

You couldn't pay me to drive behind me. I know just how incompetent I am. I also know that as we near this next speedbump, I'm sending a text message with my thumb and singing along with "Baby Got Back", and yet there you are, driving behind me for FREE, and you have the nerve to look at me funny.

Dummy.

WHEE!!!!!!!