Dear Las Vegas residents gunning V8-propelled, two-ton pickups through the city traffic: Enjoy your second-story perches, from which you may look down on bugs like me.
Don’t feel bad about pulling up three inches behind me at stoplights to show off your bumper—which, alone, is the approximate size and weight of my Honda Civic—especially at night, when your pizza-pan-size headlights illuminate my cubby. I feel nothing like a convict caught mid-escape in the prison-yard floodlights, but rather, like a ballerina on a tiny stage. There’s no need to apologize to me. I am comfortable in my lowness and smallness.
Besides, I understand that, after you’ve laid waste to the urban traffic at speeds rendering a whopping 7 miles per gallon, you have a herd of cattle to feed, or a load of lumber that needs hauling. Without such a vehicle as yours, how could you possibly deliver all those DIY solar panels and wind turbine kits for your residential renewable-energy business? Who could do that on 30 miles per gallon?
Well, besides a Chevy Silverado hybrid.
By the way, I admire how you keep your Ford F250 scratch-less and spotless, despite the wear and tear it must endure performing its intended duties. You are a pillar of civic responsibility.
So relax your grip on that heavy-duty wheel; unclench your chiseled jaw.
You’ve got nothing to prove, nothing at all.