As soon as I get within eye sight of the Center at the junction with Main Street, a woman comes walking up the sidewalk with a beautiful golden lab on a leash. She is about twenty feet west of the actual crosswalk, which pisses me off. Seriously, cross at the frigging crosswalk, you lazy bitch.
Then she does something that not only sets my teeth on edge, it causes me to slam on my brakes:
She walks directly into the street, directly in front of my moving car, without even looking in either direction.
When she hears the screaming of my tires, she looks up, makes a terrified face, then stops like a deer-walking-a-dog in the headlights. It takes about two seconds for her to deduce that she is about to become my hood ornament, so she assumes the "scared shitless stance" -- her face registers shock, and her hand comes up signalling me to stop. You know, like she's a traffic cop and not about to become a pavement pelt.
She hurries herself across the street, still holding the leash. Honestly, the only reason I hit the brake is because her dog is gorgeous and guiltless. Dogs don't know how to cross the damn street. Humans, on the other hand, especially adult humans, certainly do.
As she sweeps past my front end, I start making fun of her out my open window with some choice words, the last of which is "dumbass."
Had I been going my usual 41 mph, the stupid bitch would be dead now, and I'd have blood on my hood, a huge dent in the front end, and possibly even a cracked windshield. Then I would be really pissed, even more pissed than I am. I'd be uber-pissed.
I brake again and let this fur-covered jaywalker cross Elm Street, as well, then secretly hope the raccoon turns tail, runs back the other way, and bites the damn bitch who stepped off the curb into my driving lane, almost smooshing a perfectly fine dog in the process.
After all, causing me to leave rubber on the street makes my blood boil. The least fate that can befall that ignorant woman is rabies.
