It’s So My Mom.

My brother and I used to make fun of my mom’s explosive temper in the car. “Come ON, DICKHEAD!” She’d whine in her mom vibrato. Another variation: She’d enumerate the letters and numbers on the license plate in front of her: “LET’S GO, 5-7-8-U-L-K!” This started from my teens; my brother, nine years my junior, started hearing it in grade school.

One car ride, when my brother was young enough to be browsing the cardboard-paged illustration book “Batman & Robin” with Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze, my mother was particularly irate. Jimmy drew a precocious comparison: “That’s like mom!” the 6 year old pointed to Arnold’s ice-blasting visage. That’s still the most hilarious thing he’s ever said in his life.

I don’t know if this happens to everyone—there are a lot of crappy drivers these days—but I think I may have inherited Lonia’s impatience on the road. Overheard in my car last week: “What is it, slow asshole day??”