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Driving to the office this morning on the interstate, I looked over to my left. There was a woman in a brand new Mustang, doing 65 miles per hour, with her face up next to her rear–view mirror putting on her eyeliner.

I looked away for a couple of seconds, and when I looked back, she was halfway over in my lane, still working on that make–up.

As a man, I don’t scare easily. But she scared me so much, that I dropped my electric shaver, which knocked the doughnut out of my other hand. In all the confusing of trying to straighten out the car using my knees against the steering wheel, my cell–phone fell away from my ear, landed in the coffee between my legs, splashed and burned Big John and the Twins, ruined the damn phone and disconnected an important call.

Damn women drivers.