So I'm driving today, which I hate due to the crappy drivers that I encounter wherever I go, basically all of them, reference earlier post on that one. And while I'm driving I find myself sitting behind yet another generic Ford Windstar or Dodge Caravan or, god help us, the Dodge GRAND Caravan. So what's with that distinction? Is the mere Caravan only transporting the harem while the GRAND Caravan is toting around the Sheik himself? Anyway, I'm stuck behind one of those infuriating monstrosities (can't see around 'em, can't see over 'em, can't see under 'em, all you can see is THEM) and I find myself having to stare at the collection of inane messages on the back of said "minivan" (what? was a regular van deemed to have too much of a hippie connotation to the white, suburban mother of 2.5 children and one dog that is their demographic?). So, again, I'm staring at the back of this vehicle and having nothing whatsoever to do (can't see around 'em, remember?) I find myself reading IQ-lowering messages like the puke-worthy: "Mom's Taxi" (get a fucking job, bitch!) or "My Child Made the Principal's Honor Roll at Tiddly-Fuck Middle School", and the preposterously pompous "Again", "and Again" stickers affixed atop the original "brag-worthy" message to the rest of us. Well, guess what, Mom: in case you haven't been paying attention, the public school systems around here are in such a fucked-up, sorry state that your little darling's designation on the "Principal's Honor Roll" probably means that he/she managed to show up at school and not set the classroom on fire for 90 consecutive days. And the "And Again" one, well, I think you can figure that out for yourself, babe.
So I'm reading these silly shout-outs to the rest of us who, of course, couldn't give a rat's ass about their little attendance allstars, but who have no choice, sitting, as we are, behind this squat abomination of a...what, exactly: is it a truck? a bus? a truss? But then my eyes rest on the one that makes me want to exit my vehicle, tear said "Mom" from the driver's seat, trailing the bluetooth earpiece mid-air behind her, and pound her within an inch of her sorry, comfortable little life. Yes, folks, I'm talking about the soccer ball that is affixed to just about every godforsaken minivan and SUV on the roads today. What? Is it some kind of secret cabal that makes you sign in blood when you drive one of those stupid things that your kids automatically have to be enrolled in every competitive sport available today? Which, as you know, ranges from diving to horseback riding, to hockey, curling and (my personal favorite since these kids are generally the biggest assholes among the asshole elite that today's child "athletes" have become) yes, I'm talking about the lacrosse players.
So, depending on how many "Principal's Honor Roll" candidates this bitch has spit out, I could be staring at a soccer ball, a lacrosse stick or the ubiquitous "LAX" sticker (they make lacrosse sticks, I can't fathom how LAX relates to that, either) a baseball, basketball, tennis racket and/or a shadow figure on ballet pointe, for christ sake. Hmmm, I wonder, now I know that this is a "minivan", and I know that it is being driven by a woman somewhere between the ages of 25 and death, and I know that she is wearing expensive exercise clothes (because, depending on the time of day she is either enroute to or from her Pilates class), and I know she's sipping from a Starbucks cup (triple decaf skim latte, no foam, three Equals) and that her hair has been coifed into that generic yet primped style that says: "I've got the money to look like I don't try all that much, don't you admire me?".
And now I see the soccer ball. Thanks, bitch, for that clue as to who you are. I guess without that darn soccer ball to alert me I would never have guessed that I'm late for work and I'm stuck behind the woman we all LOVE to loathe, unless of course you're one of them, I'm talking, of course, about THE SOCCER MOM! Soccer Moms spend all day running errands, going to the gym, getting coffee and talking to other Soccer Moms about their KIDS! And of course, shuttling their little darlings all over creation, because godforbid they should have one freaking moment to themselves to just sit and stare at the wall.
I often find myself wondering how we as a nation can be in the grips of this terrifying obesity epidemic with so many Windstars and Explorers and Caravans, both Grand and not, getting in my way and blocking my view of everything except their goddamn SOCCER BALL STICKERS. Why, we should be setting the world's standard for fitness by my observation, 'cause you know what: these bitches are everywhere!