Rear View

My mom always tells me you can't drive forward by looking in the rear-view mirror.

But apparently you can declare the type of person you are on your rear-view mirror.

Two days ago, stuck at a never-ending red light, I glanced through the windows of the cars surrounding me.

Each and every one had something draped on the rear view. The car behind me had a string of pearls draped across the rear view. The car to the right had a necklace with some kind of shark tooth and the car to the left had a beaded necklace reminiscent of the late 1990s.

Without ever looking at the drivers, I knew who they were. Turns out, I was right. Pearls was a young teenage girl driving the new car her parents just purchased, turned out to be a pale yellow Beetle. The shark tooth, without a doubt, was an older male who still liked to think of himself as some hard-core macho man, but in reality was fading into the cautious driving, I-didn't-realize-my-blinker-was-on-for-the-last-five-miles guy. The beaded necklace was a single male pushing his late 20s, perhaps early 30s, trying to keep that cool-teenager persona. (Side note: I'm sure all these items hold significance and value to the drivers. I'm just nosy and judgemental.)

Then I looked at my rear view. Totally blank. I felt like I had forgotten to put on pants in the intersection and everyone was staring at my faux pas.

So what would I put on mine? What says "me"? A dirty diaper (baby mama)? A beaded-sharked-tooth pearl necklace (mother trying to reclaim young adult persona where she relived teenage years to make up for the fact she was a total nerd but failing to see that she is indeed that fuddy-duddy mother who won't turn right on a red for fear of striking some runaway toddler)?

Needless to say, I returned home with a firm resolve to place something on the rear view so I don't feel so naked in public the next time.

I'll let you know what I come up with.