Here’s my confession: Yes, I hit the mayor with my car and kept driving. I’m not a terrible person, though! Really, it could have happened to anyone. Lots of people drink a little too much chardonnay at dinner and agree to give their younger boyfriend Greg a handjob on the ride home. Why didn’t Greg drive? Because he only has one arm, duh. Anyway, as I drove through that crossing and heard the thud on my windshield, I did stop the car! I got out like a responsible adult and checked the mayor’s battered and bloodied face just long enough to make sure he was still breathing. I ignored his pleas of “Call 911, please, I think I’m dying, I’m a new grandfather!” because my cell phone is ran? out of minutes.
How would you feel to be me? A divorced mother of two ungrateful children that openly tell me every day they prefer their stepmother Karen because she makes their father happy in a way I never could. I’m just trying my best! Sometimes I feel so powerless I get too drunk at dive bars and take my top off in the bathroom. It’s empowering in a way that’s too complicated for me to explain to you.
So when I took one last look at the mayor whimpering on the sidewalk in a puddle of his own vomit and blood, I felt alive in a way I haven’t felt since they brought the Oprah chai tea latte to Starbucks. I hopped back into my car, buckled in, and felt a rush of adrenaline. Ah, so this is power.
Greg cried the whole way home like a little bitch but not me. I sped up and drove the whole way home cackling. I hit the mayor with my car and I’d do it again.
Looks like Diane’s got her groove back.
Sam Montgomery was Emma Stone before Emma Stone was a thing.