So I'm walking back to my office from picking up my new phone (4th phone in 2 months thanks to a watery grave, a thief, and a technical glitch) when I cross a busy intersection where I have the walk sign.
This guy in a black sedan lays on his horn thinking that his car belongs in the intersection more than I do.
Normally this wouldn't bother me too much, except he doesn't see the woman crossing opposite me with a baby carriage.
As soon as I pass he rolls down his window to graciously inform me in a loud voice that my ass is "wider than the road" and I should get said ass out of said road. Why thank you, dear sir for the PSA.
I am a New Yorker, and what this douchelord doesn't know is that the only part of me larger than my ass is my mouth. "You want to come back here and tell me that to my face, you ill-mannered dillhole? My fatass will then kick yours."
He tries to say something, but I've so clearly won the affection of the crowd that was standing by waiting to cross the street that I turn around and walk away.
A Golden Triangle Ambassador (people hired by the business improvement district to keep the street clean and help give tourists directions) asks me if I'm okay, as if I should be quaking in my boots. All I can come up with is "Eh, my ass used to be bigger."
As if running 10 miles last night on the elliptical didn't do it, that little performance did.
My lunch from Chipotle tastes like victory.