Dear truck driver who tried to hit on me today while driving

Dear trucker who tried to hit on me today,

Yes, I saw you.  How could I not?  You were hauling 5 tons of equipment as you drove past me, making motions with your tongue that no grown man should ever make.

I’m flattered. I really am. I mean, I know you’ve probably been on the road a long time, and haven’t seen a woman for days (aside from the ones on the boob tube in the local motels).

However, I’m sure your failure to see a woman in the flesh hasn’t made you any less picky as far as what type of women you prefer.

On a side note Women in the Flesh is overdue to Sal at Sal’s Seedy rentals. He wanted me to pass that message along. Just an FYI.

Yes, I know I look ridiculously appealing as I drive and rock out to Technotronic while pumping up the jam. Believe me. I know.

But was it really necessary to honk incessantly and make hand gestures at me while I did the robot at the stop light?

And speeding up when we got on the highway so you could be right next to me might be considered sweet to your ladies of the night, but its super creepy to most people.

Some might even classify it as a crime.

Maybe you were just trying to see inside my car, as I have several issues of Us Weekly strewn about, along with various partially eaten pieces of fruit and a bucket of popcorn.

If you’d like, I can toss these items out the window for you to pick up. I’m a giver that way.

Just give me the international signal to chuck them out the window and I’ll do it right now.

I’m also not sure how you are physically able to tilt your head to a 110 degree angle as you ogle, but it isn’t conjuring up images of exciting things you can so with such skills, other than fix my plumbing.

The plumbing under my cabinet, jack ass. My sink. My actual sink.  Get your head out of the gutter.

And don’t even think of filing a workers comp claim for your neck injury.

Staring at my pasty legs with your neck tilted at a strange angle does not a compensable claim make.

And I appreciate you visibly drooling while staring at the tops of my thighs, which you can see only because of your superior neck flexibility.

However, I don’t think your employer would appreciate it nearly as much, especially since you’re operating several tons of machinery.

No, that’s not a double entendre and I’m not talking about operating the “machinery in your pants.”

Speaking of your pants, please put both of your hands where I can see them.

If you insist on mirroring my every move, please do so with your hands at 10 and 2.

No, “10 and 2” are not the name of my breasts. Really? Really with that?!

Yes, the idea of leaving my husband for a truck driver who stalks me on the interstate is appealing, but I just don’t see our relationship going the distance.

No pun intended.

Pun. I said pun. Not bun. I’m not referencing my butt here. Stay with me.

I can practically smell the cigarette smoke filling your cab, and although I realize you intended it to be sexy, felating the straw from your Big Gulp isn’t as enticing as you may think, especially since the straw keeps falling in between the gap where your front teeth used to be.

So, alas, we must go our separate ways, keeping in mind that our love was never meant to be.

But don’t worry, there are plenty of other women driving on the interstate who would be happy to start a long distance relationship with a truck driver they met while passing in the fast lane.

That’s how so many fairy tale love stories begin.

Good luck to you.  May you find your Thelma to your Louise.

With a three honk salute (and NOT with my boobs),