Dear Person Screaming Down 26th Avenue Attempting to Break the Sound Barrier at 7:45 a.m. Monday Morning

If you check in on this blog now and then, you know that the Queen and Supreme Goddess is an unusually sanguine, tolerant person. . . but on occasion, she does get cranky. The Queen then rips off a Dear Person letter or its equivalent. This is one of those occasions. 

Dear Person Screaming Down 26th Avenue Attempting to Break the Sound Barrier at 7:45 Monday Morning:

Yes. I know. I feel your pain. I have a lead foot, too.

Times are tough. Your own personal speed track -- 29th Avenue -- is ass-over-teakettle in construction. Spokane Raceway STILL doesn't have an event for smokin' fast late-model Ford Explorers bearing My Boston Terrier Is Smarter Than Your Middle Schooler bumper stickers. You're once again late for pilates. And no doubt texting about it.

But may I humbly suggest, in the interest of neighborhoods, dog walkers, small children and senior citizens everywhere, that you take your quest for establishing the world's land speed record somewhere other than 26th Avenue on the South Hill?

The Bonneville Salt Flats come to mind.

Just a suggestion.

But in the meantime, while you're cobbling up those sponsorship dollars for that trip to Utah with your smokin' fast late model Ford Explorer with the My Boston Terrier Is Smarter Than Your Middle Schooler, just slow down. On 26th Avenue. And pretty much everywhere else on the Hill too.

Okay?

Okay. 

Sincerely yours,

The Queen "Always Wear Your Seat Belt" and Supreme Goddess "Don't Drink and Drive" of Bermtopia

P.S. One other thought because maybe. . . on the other hand. . . you are driving like a maniac through my neighborhood frantically searching for friendly, insightful driving tips from models of perfection like myself. Here's one:

You know those weird little neon-yellow stand-up gingberbread boys, bearing flags saying "Children at Play"? They actually mean something to the people who put them there. If they didn't, they would proudly display pink plastic flamingos and ceramic garden gnomes and we'd all be drinking mai tais on the front lawn from noon on.

Those signs mean c.h.i.l.d.r.e.n. are p.l.a.y.i.n.g. in the vicinity -- and quite possibly the s.t.r.e.e.t.

Just think about it. I'm sure you'll see the logic. At some point.

P.P.S. Oh, and let's chat about 25th Avenue for just a minute, shall we? The City appears to have placed No Parking signs on a fair stretch of the Ave to accommodate many of us who are using the street as a alternate route between Grand and Lincoln. The plan is working swimmingly -- and we all get to check out the cool new shelter going up by the playground at upper Manito.

But then, but then. The No Parking signs end, and while I have really enjoyed playing chicken with you, still traveling at Mach 10, as we try to pass between two parked cars, I grow tired of this little amusement. Cut me some slack, pull over and let me pass. I'll do the same for you.

And throw in a neighborly wave to boot. I promise.