...your mother raises you to have insane road rage

I don't know if anyone out there has road rage as badly as I do. I mean, it's bad. 

And there's nothing I hate more than a traffic jam. Except for cooked spinach. Raw spinach is great, but cooked spinach is of the bowels of the devil. 

Anyways...I wish I could come up with creative ways to avoid traffic like these clever Russians, but I'm a broke college student. So I'm forced to stick to flashing my pinky at people. I've always felt that middle fingers are overrated and, let's face it, just plain mean. There's something about throwing a pinky that makes me feel like I've found a classier way to satisfy my inner Irish temper. I mean, I have very little Irish in me, but still...

Anyways, I'm an aggressive driver. I hate when the people in front of me go under the speed limit or even the exact speed limit, so I'm a little bit of a bumper driver. Yes, I'm one of those people. 

So one day I was in traffic, and the guy in front of me was slowly crawling along. This made me angry. After my tangent was done, I noticed his bumper sticker.

Touche, slowpoke. Touche. 

Anyways, I was thinking about it, and one day, I realized - it's my mother's fault. 

I know, I know. People have spent decades paying therapists thousands of dollars to be able to blame their parents, but it's true! 

When I was little, my mom used to get annoyed with the people in front of her, so she taught me a game that she used to make herself feel better. She would pretend that our car was a German tank and the buttons on the radio could fire different weapons like rockets, flame throwers and a good old machine gun. 

Whenever she would get mad at the person ahead of us, she would whip out her fake German accent and yell, "Aha! You haf messed viss ze wrong person! Vee vill get you!" and then proceed to punch the buttons and fire imaginary bombs at them. 

She even taught me all of the buttons and which one went with which weapon and let me take turns firing at the cars ahead of us. And she even passed on the bad German accent. 

Do you see now? My road rage is not my fault! Now, my mom doesn't get quite as...worked up as I do, but still. She planted the seed. 

I'm a really nice person, I promise. But sometimes the crouching tiger escapes from the inner awkward penguin.