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It wasn't even her brown roots that needed a touch-up
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The weeping cherry tree blooms are just past their prime, shedding their flowers all over the greened-up lawns like a pale pink spring snow. I passed one today that had been well-trimmed (ours is shaggy and heavy-limbed and the branches brush the ground) and realized that the shape is that of fireworks frozen in green and pink and brown.

On the way to work today (I was admittedly a tad late and might have been especially cranky) I drove behind a woman in a Jeep. Not one of the fully-enclosed SUV-like Jeep Cherokees, but a Jeep that could have been driven in The Big War, devoid even of its plastic "windows". While she was driving, this woman of little sense was PUTTING ON HER MASCARA. While driving. When the Jeep was moving. Even though that is a particular peeve of mine, and I've ranted here before about how it makes women seem like empty-headed bimbos who can't find the time to get their faces on at home, that was not what really bothered me. Nor was it the sneer I got from this woman when I pulled up a little too close behind her as she erratically skipped between Warp 2 and 25 MPH. It wasn't even the "W, The President" bumper sticker, nauseous as that made me. It was, in fact, the sight of the infant seat in the back of the Jeep, fractions of an inch from the open rear and side windows.

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