Rounding a corner in my trusty Honda I narrowly avoided running head-on into a shiny silver Porsche that was driving down the middle of a narrow lane. At which point I yelled (to myself, since the windows were up):
“STOP HOGGING THE ROAD MR. FANCYPANTS!”
In the time it took for me to pull back onto the road, my anger had dissipated into bafflement. At 24 years old and armed with an English degree, “Mr. Fancypants” is the most creative derogatory term I can come up with? Put me on the playground. I will totally reduce those kids to tears.