Open Letter To The Horn Honker

An Open Letter to the Person Who Honked Their Horn Outside My House at 8:55 Tuesday Night

Dear person who either just recently discovered their car horn or is too lazy to step out of their car and knock on a door,

I’m not sure if you are aware of this or not, but there are other humans living on this planet besides you. Sure, who doesn’t love a double *honk honk* at nearly nine o’clock at night, on a beautifully cool Pennsylvania evening. I just wish I would’ve known in advance so I could’ve properly thanked you for waking the toddler I had just gotten to sleep.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a one year old to sleep? Children at that age have the stamina of a world class marathoner in the first mile of a race. They will outlast you. I hear again and again there is an energy crisis in this country. I think we just haven’t tried hard enough to tap the energy of toddlers.

You’ve rocked them for ten minutes in the 80 degree heat in your house, up and down the stairs, around all of the rooms in the pitch dark, expertly avoiding the toys you haven’t yet cleaned up. Those big blue eyes start to roll back and those tiny eyelids flutter. You smile to yourself, though not too broadly as they can sense when we are relaxed and happy, and not too loudly as they can be startled by something as tiny as an ant fart.

And then some jagoff decides to honk their horn.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you can’t honk you horn whenever you please. That’s a guaranteed right in the United States Constitution. Somewhere near the bit about the right to dress in silly hats with tea bags hanging on them. It’s in there somewhere. Next time, though, before you decided to regale the neighborhood with an impromptu car horn concert could you instead maybe call the person on your cell phone if you are too lazy to knock on their door?

If not, the next time you better duck, because there’s a tiny metal car I just gashed the bottom of my foot with heading your way.

Ineed Sleep