Fahren, fahren, fahren auf der Autobahnbahn

My wife tells me Austrians have the highest driving fatality rate in Europe. It’s not surprising, they combine the aggression of German drivers with the lack of discipline of Italians, the melancholy Slavic death wish with the English penchant for driving on the wrong side of the road. So all I could say was, tell me about it. In the middle lane minding my own business, I said. Left (passing) lane totally empty. Guy zooms up right behind me, passes me on the right, I said. Or this morning, a crazy woman on my bumper all the way into town, although I’m doing the speed limit. Then we hit traffic and slow down, she stays right on my bumper as if that’s going to speed up traffic. Then when we merge into another road, she crosses three solid lines to pass me. Zoom.

Stop it, you’re making my head ache. Why do you always rant like this.

Or that guy in the smokey little white compact with the refrigerator tied to his roof, did I tell you about him?

Look, I’ve been driving that stretch a lot longer than you have, she said. Don’t you tell me. Why do you let them get to you?

Because their aggression puts my life at risk, I said. And did you see how all the daffodils are blooming out front? And in the back yard too? And that purple thing, I think it’s a hyacinth?

??? she said.

And did you see how cute the little one was, sleeping with her stuffed animals?

???

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