Rebel Rebel

I did something bad this weekend. Funny, but bad. I have been conflicted about it since it happened. On one hand, I giggled for several minutes. On the other, my stomach kind of knots up when I think about it and I feel bad for being mean. Oh well, here’s the story. Don’t call the cops on me.
Saturday I went to a friend’s house for a birthday party. I had a great time chatting and being out (something you appreciate so much more after having kids). Later in the night, I had to go out and move my car to allow someone out of the driveway that I had blocked in. Upon reparking, I notice this cool old sports car. I don’t know a whole lot about cars, but I thought it was a Corvair. My understanding was that in the 60’s Cheverolet made kind of ‘special edition’ Corvettes called Corvairs. Well, I guess I was wrong. When I went inside and asked whose car it was, a boy answered with whom I have never seen eye to eye. Not even a little bit. But, I try to be nice to everyone (thanks Mom and Dad) so I tell him genuinely that his car is very cool and I ask him if it’s a Corvair. Well you would’ve thought I went up and punched him in the gut and insulted his mother. He got all pissy and snuffed at me and denied that’s what it was. I had no idea I could offend someone so easily. I apologized and backtracked saying I do not know much about cars. This had no effect on the a-hole. He was saying something about calling his car a Chevette or Pinto or god knows what. Sheesh. I say again, “Well, it’s a nice car.” At the time I let it slide and didn’t think too much about it. But by the time I left I was revisiting the whole thing and thinking just what a p**ck this guy really is. When I was leaving I had to pass the car again. This time I thought it was a pretty car and I wish I had a can of paint to dump on it, a bat to smash it, a beer to throw at it, a key to scratch it. Visions that I would never follow through on, obviously. But I did have a bottle cap in my car. A shiny little cap could do no damage, right? So as I drove away I tossed it into the convertible. It made a little tinkling sound when it landed and I giggled all the way home. I am SUCH a rebel. I pictured him getting in his precious little Pinto and crying when he realized someone was mean to him and his car. Of course the next day guilt set in. What if he sat on the cap and it scratched the leather seat? What if it poked him in the rear? I’m no outlaw I realize. I almost called to apologize. Outlaw no, coward…maybe? I think I will stick to daydreaming about possible transgressions and give my gut a rest.