You: Irritated dark-haired man driving midnight-blue Mercedes SUV
Me: Leather-clad mommy-type trying to cross the street on foot
I did so enjoy our brief encounter, during which you gestured crossly at me and yelled soundlessly--such good insulation on those German luxury vehicles!--to hurry my ass up and get across the street. I hope you felt the warmth in my response, best described as a single-finger salute.
I apologize for slowing down your passage through downtown Livingston, on your way to what I'm sure was a crucial appointment. I can only imagine the inconvenience I must have caused you, stuck idling in your tastefully appointed leather seats while I stubbornly refused to dart, rabbit-like, across the snowy street in the 9-degree winter air. Looking back, I can't undertand why I didn't just take my life in my hands and run across the road, saving you those valuable 10 seconds. Indeed, those are 10 seconds that neither of us will be able to get back, but judging from what you're driving, your 10 seconds are probably infinitely more valuable than mine.
Let's meet again soon in the streets of Livingston. With any luck, next time you'll be the one on foot, and I can demonstrate a little Montana grace by giving you a friendly wave and a smile to help you across the street. Either that or I could check out the accelerative capabilities of my 1998 Chrysler Town and Country.