|Not My Guys, But Similar|
Not sports, move on or not.
Maybe it's me.
Maybe I am someone encouraging this with my walk, my countenance, the way I dress, or something else. (Well, I do stay in some measure of shape.) Or maybe it's just that when you log about 27 miles a week on your feet, you are just out in the elements long enough to brook such hostility, from sheer weight of exposure.
To wit, this.
Three times in the last week, I've had full-grown people -- not teenagers, mind you, people -- who have felt compelled to scream their lungs out at me while passing in automobiles.
In broad daylight, for, apparently, their idea of fun.
Just, I think, to see who can be the biggest asshat, assuming there isn't some kind of chemical issue at work here.
Needless to say, it's always guys. Same skin color as me so far, not that the race of your asshattery really matters.
Each time, I've been startled, then angry, then wondered...
Why, exactlty, do these brilliant children not think I'm armed, given that I'm an American?
And that I would also be able to Stand My Ground, in that I'm standing on ground in America...
I'm starting to see the appeal.
(And no, not enough to betray my convictions and get a pointless tool. But everyone's entitled to daydreams.)