the Bitch in the house

Can karma really catch up? On Sunday afternoon while returning home from the not-so-neighborhood nursery, my husband was driving and about to enter the nearby expressway. The particular entrance we were upon is a tight little turn known as a curb bulb. What are curb bulbs, you ask?… according state department of transportation, they are to extend the curb into the street and improve pedestrian crossing by shortening the crossing distance and providing improved visibility; also, they help to reduce speeds by narrowing the roadway and restricting turning speeds. The restriction on turning speeds is the key factor to our sunday afternoon driving experience. The expressway has a long on-ramp to address the curb bulb at its entrance and can be deceptive toward the driver whose small appendage forces him to nepoleanize the rodeway. The passage was small and I was shocked and alarmed as I saw a motorcycle out of the corner of my eye speeding past BigShot’s driver side window and around our front bumper at a close shave. I worried that my husband could only hit him as we were already in the curve of the curb bulb viewing the horror about to unfold while the motorcyclist passed us by. However, the cyclist did not restrict his daring speed and what followed is particularly satisfying considering that his miniscule appendage prevented this motorcyclist from making wise choices and behaving in a courteous and generous manner while sharing the road. With some irony here, both my husband and I are very aware of motor/bicycles and respectfully share the road on all occassions. Yet this cyclist was too busy bouncing into the curb bulb, laying down his bike and rolling through the desert landscaping which decorates said curb bulb. It was a pretty spectacular example of just desserts. My husband slowed and we were debating our responsibility to the fellow as I saw the anonymous wonder jump up and dust himself off as he scraped cactus thorns from his jeans. I said that my husband should roll down the window and yell “karma!” However, Mr. BigShot – being more reserved and far less confrontational than myself – determined the best course of action would be to laugh as we sped off down the expressway while tineewinkeemotorcycleman picked up his bike cursing the department of transportation efforts to control such unecesarry fuckery on the roads. I’m thinking he may opt not to treat the rest of us as though we were petty grievences to ignore or worse to mar on his pathway to hell or wherever he was headed. At least he was smart enough to be wearing the helmet that I am certain his mother insisted he own when he purchased this ridulous piece of machinery masking as a penis-replacement. I think it is John Lennon who warns: Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You…