I feel the car slow abruptly. I don’t need to look up from my book to guess that there’s no obstacle ahead. I correctly guess that Iggy is sending his message to the tailgater behind us.

I should have anticipated that Iggy will attack tailgaters whenever we hit the highways.

If Iggy can’t easily change lanes to escape a tailgater, he drops the car’s speed dramatically to slow them. This is safer, he assures me, than letting them tailgate.

"I’m protecting you from getting rear-ended," he says.

Sigh. I figure someday he’ll do this to a driver with a gun. We’ll end up splattered over the asphalt one way or another. That’s anticipation.

 

Read more Sunday Scribblings about anticipation.