Why do people get all huffy in traffic along Highway 61? It's 61, dude. No, there is not a wreck ahead slowing things down, this is the way it is. All. The. Time. Stop swinging out to make sure that there is traffic in front of me. Go live some where else if it's going to give you a stroke or at least try to pull off the road before you have it.

Why do I pay good money to let some-one slather hot wax on my eyebrows and rip the hair out by the roots? (Actually there is an answer to this one. It's because while Brooke Shields may be able to get away with the caterpiller eyebrow look, I, being no Brooke Shields, cannot.)

Why do I get all teary eyed when that old couple from around the block go out for "walks" on their matching Hover-rounds?

Why, when presented with a loblolly pine seedling, did I have to warn Jason not to plant it too close to the house or the insurance company will raise the rates or make us cut it down as soon as it gets grown.

Why am I sitting here thinking up why things when I should be finishing the query package for the agent that was recommended to me?

Okay, I'm going now.