“Careful, Carol! That mailbox didn’t do anything to you!”
People laughed.
My face burned, but I finished parking perfectly, locked my car, and walked away without giving him the reaction he wanted.
Then things became much more serious.
One Tuesday morning, I stepped outside and discovered all four tires on my Chevy completely flat.
Each one had been deliberately slashed.
I marched across the street.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Ryan barely reacted.
He repeated the same insulting idea he had been pushing from the beginning: women—especially older women—shouldn’t be driving.
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