so about those stereotypes

Sitting at the corner, waiting to pull into traffic, watching big freaking trucks (of the sort that wish they had license plates that say "farm vehicle" but in fact have never seen a spec of dirt in their life), and I end up having to pull in behind a pokey mini-van. Gnashing my teeth, of course, at the quick glimpse of kid seat in the back, not exactly a Windstar but definitely one of those "room for everyone!" minivans that may be big on the inside but they're damn well small on style, and maybe that's why they're a favorite of suburban souls with no sense of individuality.

Or maybe not.

Because not more than half-block of driving behind this minivan, I realized just what I'd been reading on the bumpersticker right in the middle of the minivan's bumper.

I belong to the NRA, and I voted for Obama.

That sound you hear? That was the sound of my stereotypes getting kicked to the door.