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At the light on the way back from Chance's violin lesson, there's a PT Cruiser pulled up in the turn lane next to me.

NOBODY'S wearing seat belts. Not bozo Mom, not the 8-year-old in the front seat. I swear, some people have the intelligence of a cabbage.

If Chance hadn't been in the car, it might have gone something like, "Excuse me! Are you comfortable there? I know those seatbelts get pretty constraining, don't they! Did you know that when you have a wreck, her head's going to get popped off by the airbag and bounce around in the back seat? Of course, you're probably killing her with second-hand smoke, so at least this will be quick!"

At that point, the light would change and I could zoom off into the sunset, leaving her fuming but pensive and with a downcast expression as she realized the error of her ways, but resolving to buckle up everyone right then.

Sigh. Find the bonehead in this picture.

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