To the Little Old Man in the Shiny Red Car

I'm sorry! I'm sorry I honked at you! It's just... I had to slam on my brakes when you turned into my lane. You were tentative and... well... slow, and you probably weren't sure which lane you were supposed to be in because you were straddling both of them for a bit, weaving back and forth. Maybe it was a borrowed car and you were not really comfortable driving it. Maybe you don't drive very often. But I didn't think of that at the time.

See, we were in Lake Oswego, and the red car... well... it doesn't look like a little-old-man-car. I thought for all the world that you were some high-maintenance, self-centered, Lake-Oswegan, middle-aged woman holding her cell phone in the bejeweled fingers of one hand and the steering wheel in the other, oblivious to the rest of the world, not taking the mental energy to consider the other drivers around her. When I passed you and turned to give you a dirty look, it was only then I realized that you were just a sweet little old guy driving an uncharacteristically showy vehicle, and you were probably intimidated enough by the road and all the whipper-snappers around you before I had to go and do something so rude as to honk at you. You probably could have done without that. But I couldn't say so. There's no opposite of "the finger" really. So I'm sorry. And I can only hope someone else was more kind.