Powell, Ohio: What’s that, Jennifer? Are you really about to get in the front-seat of the car? Jennifer, did you not hear me? Or did you …choose to ignore me? Jennifer, oh my god.

Listen up, because I know you heard me Jennifer: I. Called. Shot-gun. That means *I* get to sit in the front of the car, and not you.  And listen, I don’t care if you “don’t want to play this game” with me, “didn’t hear” me, or “don’t feel like doing this bullshit right now,” Jennifer.  I don’t care if this is “just a five minute drive back home after getting ice cream.”

I called shotgun. I repeat: I called shotgun.  Is nothing sacred to you? I’m not following why you think you can just blow me off on this. Shotgun is the rule of the land in these parts, and you know that.  We all know that.  If you really wanted to sit in the front, nothing was stopping you from calling it before me.

But you didn’t do it. You didn’t seize the opportunity to call shotgun.  And that’s why it’s my turn to sit in the front seat, Jennifer.  Please move.