So I had a bit of an altercation yesterday with a taxi driver. From previous posts, you may be thinking we were driving in a school zone and he hit a few children while passing me at well beyond the legal limit. In fact, I was on foot and not in a slow-the-hell-down area. Apparently my rage extends to all areas of the road. Do something well or don't do it at all, I always say.

I was at a busy intersection in the downtown sector of our city and was waiting to cross at the light with Intrepid and Gutsy. Intrepid had the day off and we were making our way to Gutsy's preschool to drop him off. In fact, we were right across the road from the preschool. All we had to do was wait for the walk signal and we could go. There were vehicles making right turns in front of us at the red (which is legal where we live).

When the light went green and the walk signal came on, I looked to see if anyone else was making a last minute turn in front of us. There was a cab driver on his cell phone who was stopped, so I presumed it was safe to go. We had gone a few steps into the intersection when he started making his turn, oblivious to the fact that we were in front of him. He slammed on his break about five or six feet from Intrepid and rudely motioned for us to hurry up.

Now, I don't know about you, but I would never rudely motion a very pregnant woman with two children across the street when I didn't see them because I was too busy chatting on my cell, nearly hit one of her kids and she has the legal right of way. Something about it being my fault might make me not want to do that.

I made eye contact and pointed to the big, white, shiny guy attached to the street sign across the street that indicates a 'walk' around here, then continued to walk my children across the street.

The friendly taxy driver slammed his horn on in protest.

At this point I think I did what any mature, thirty-year-old mother would do in this circumstance: I extended my arm over and behind Intrepid's head so as to obscure my children's view and flipped the guy off. I'm nothing if not classy and level-headed.

At this point I think the cabby did what any mature, middle-aged professional driver would do in this circumstance: He rolled down his window and, mostly veiled under a thick accent, yelled something about crossing the street and called me an asshole.

That was the end of it. I wanted to lodge a complaint with the cab company, but I didn't get the guy's license or taxi number. I also wanted to pretend that one of the dads I sit on the preschool board with didn't see me flip off a taxi driver in the middle of the day with my children present. It was just a tad embarassing.

I need to get my senses back. That means I need to pop out the spawnling, get through the first few sleepless weeks and go collect my brain from storage.

Tonight's a full moon. I've started taking a homeopathic (very mild) blue cohosh on top of the evening primrose oil. Let's hope it's enough to get this labour shizzit going, yo. Any longer and I'm likely to start swearing at imaginary people and putting tinfoil on my head. Nanu, nanu.