There's a fly in my truck.   I know this isn't a major crisis, given the state of affairs in our world today.   Still, it's starting to get on my last nerve.

This is no ordinary fly.  It's the D-Con poster child.  It's one of those hyperactive, windshield-hugging, ear-buzzing, in-your-face flies from Hell whose sole mission in life is to tick me off.

Like I don't have enough to deal with during the morning drive.  As some idiot swerves in front of me just to slam on his brakes for no earthly reason, this fly does an inverted loop under my nose.  I'm beginning to believe in the theory of evolution.

As I smack at the fly, it occurs to me how badly I'd like to do this to the next inbred moron who speeds past a line of stopped traffic, then tries to force his way in at the front of the line.  Whack!

Why is it that little things bother us so much?   I can put up with a lot, but I have zero tolerance for inconsiderate jerks.

Like the woman in the grocery store who parks her cart in the middle of the aisle as she picks through six hundred outdated coupons to save ten cents on a can of corn.  Whack!

Or the guy at work who moves the coffee pot out of the way just as it starts brewing and fills his cup with the strong stuff, leaving everyone else a pot of light-brown dishwater.  Whack!

And who hasn't been waiting at a fast-food restaurant as the woman at the front of the line calls her co-workers on a cell phone to see what kind of salad dressing they want?  Smack!

Maybe I'm just getting older, but it seems that manners are pretty much a thing of the past.  If you're in heavy traffic and people are using their turn signals and letting others merge, you're probably riding in a police car.

I read once that you never really learn to swear until you learn to drive.  That's not true. I learned it from my sister, right after she learned to drive.

For whatever reason, driving seems to bring out the worst in us.  The commuter's salute is the most widely recognized hand gesture in the world.  In some states, it's required to pass the driver's test.  I think New Jersey is one of them.

My pastor tells me I shouldn't show my feelings so visibly in traffic.  He's a great friend, and his opinion means a lot.  But if he knew what I'd really like to shoot at some drivers, he'd encourage me to flip off a few more.

That would begin with the guy who blocks the passing lane for six miles, then tries to race me when I get fed up and pass him on the right.  Whack!

Next comes the moron who waits until the last instant, cuts across four lanes of traffic to exit, then changes his mind and veers back onto the highway.  Whack!

And for those who block an intersection by piling up behind cars that haven't moved in ten minutes, I could be persuaded to support legalized gunplay.

Yes, I tend to get a bit emotional about the little things.  Few things upset me more than inconsiderate people.  But what's bothering me most right now isn't people or manners or traffic.  It's that damned fly.  That poor, defenseless little fly.  Whack!