The morning began with a drive to the wrong lab and a hairy-faced jackass tailgating us the whole way there.

Susanne was driving on the single-lane road and was not responding well to the ass-ramming.

"Look at this guy!," she said, her Sicilian blood warming to a steady simmer.

"He's right up my ass!"

"Look how he wants to pass me, the jackass!"

[At this point I should note that I'm going for the world record for most uses of the word "ass" in a blog post related to diabetes. Victor Giovanni of Staten Island, NY, holds the record at 14 for his piece, My Endo, the Ass.]

"Let the ass pass," I said.

When she threatened to roll down her window to say something to this assface, I reminded her of the numerous (and I mean numerous) times she told me how dumb it was to do that back when I myself suffered from a touch of the road rage.

"He could have had a gun," she would scold me after we were out of harm's way.

All of that good sensibility, however, went literally out the window along with her bony middle finger that shot straight up into the light morning drizzle.

Me? When I was road raging, my modus operandi was different. I always preferred blowing a kiss when the furious driver behind me passed alongside to curse me out. A big, juicy, slow-motion kiss. They love that. Especially the big boys. As a general rule, the bigger the meathead, the more sensual tongue he'd receive with my kiss.

But I can respect her choosing the middle finger. It's classic, dependable and to the point.

"Can't they read?" Charlie said angrily.

"Don't they know there's a child with diabetes in this car?" he continued.

Charlie was referring to the "I Love a Child with Diabetes" magnet attached to our car.

"Destroy him," Charlie said mercilessly, leaving no option for diplomacy.

I'm such an ass (ding-ding-ding). I got so caught up in road rage, I forgot to explain why we were attempting to go to the lab. More on that tomorrow.

Damn you! Victor Giovanni of Staten Island. We shall meet again!