Let me introduce you to Mo and to Ron.
We all know them.
Mo and Ron are on the roads with us. Often, they are in company with their sister, Morhonda, and with their idiot cousin and twit uncle.
Mo-Ron always seem to party together all the time.
If yours is the only car approaching an intersection, Mo will wait until you’re right on top of him to jump out and turn in front of you, making you slam on your brakes, send your packages flying, splashing your hot coffee all over you and your new suede jacket.
Ron will follow close behind you, trying to drive up your tailpipe, and lay on his horn when you’re not going fast enough.
Morhonda will be applying her makeup while texting or talking on the phone. She may even take time to notice the hot dude in the Mercedes in the next lane and try to seduce him, even at high speeds.
Sometimes, Mo will stop short in front of you.
Often, Ron will turn left across two lanes, without signaling.
Morhonda will, on occasion, knowingly cut you off or turn illegally in front of you, then flash a grin of idiocy and shrug in mock apology.
Mo and Ron and Morhonda have a death wish for you.
Mo-Ron will come at you in full-on, nuclear road rage.
Mo-Ron will cause accidents and abuse their victims as being at fault with many vulgar epithets calling your intelligence and driving skill into question.
You will be too well-bred and polite to lay them out with the tire iron, and then will castigate yourself for your own impotence in the face of Mo-Ron’s gleeful abandon of all things reasonable and considerate.
The concept of road etiquette is an alien concept to Mo-Ron. Morhonda thinks road etiquette is something she -- and she alone -- should benefit from.
And, to our secret shame, sometimes, our loved ones, and yes, sometimes -- all too often -- even we ourselves are Mo-Ron.