Road rage, Amazonians and fuzzy handcuffs

Road rage, Amazonians and fuzzy handcuffs
Dear Rachel,
I’ve made it my game lately to tally the out-of-state plates on my regular drive between Durango and Pagosa. I routinely see five different states, and not just the usual Texas and New Mexico. Tennessee is a surprising regular. The other day though, I counted 11. That’s almost a quarter of this great union out and about when we’re meant to be limiting out-of-house travel, let alone out of state. I’m about to set up roadblocks to protect Colorado, I get so mad! What can I do to stay calm about these wanderers from afar?
– Tourist Tags
Dear All the Road Rage,
Here goes. My best advice for staying calm about all those motorists you see who shouldn’t be leaving their houses is … well … don’t leave your house.
– Up on blocks, Rachel
 
Dear Rachel,
I’m starting to feel really guilty about how much I use that rainforest-themed online retail giant. They fooled me by saying a percentage of my purchases will go to a charity I choose. That’s great. But I just did the math on how many thousands of dollars I’ve pumped into Bezos’ pockets based on my charitable donation, and … well, I’ve come to Jesus. I could be supporting smaller businesses and donating to charity my own damn self. But now it’s a habit. How can I break it before it’s too late?
– In the Amazon
Dear ’Zoned Out,
What great philosopher could have predicted that the downfall of personal ethics would be precipitated by convenience? Most any of them, actually. But not one of them understood the allure of two-day shipping (even if it’s more like five-day shipping to this part of the world) and promotional credit applicable to any purchase in the music store in the next 90 days. You’ve got to go cold turkey. Block that domain on all your devices. It is your only hope.
– In my Prime, Rachel 
 
Dear Rachel,
My husband and I are celebrating 10 years of marriage this week. Or we would be. He just admitted to me that he hated the glasses I wore when we met as teen-agers. I don’t care about that. I care about how now that he’s let that cat out, he can’t stop talking about it. He brings up the thick rims apropos of nothing, mocks the retro horns, laughs at my dorky appearance. Yeah, I was a dork, but now I want to punch him right in his beautiful no-contacts ocean blues. Any ideas for averting mariticide?
– Honey Don’t You Dare
Dear Four Eyes,
If you divorce him before you murder him, then it’s not technically mariticide. That’s one way to avoid it. Another way would be to pull out the fuzzy handcuffs on your anniversary, lock him to the bed, bring him close to nirvana, then walk out, shut the door, get in your car, and drive out of state for a week or two. I bet he’d forget to criticize your teen-age glasses for a while. Just don’t drive through Pagosa on your way. I hear those drivers are all kinds of ragey.
– Happy Ann, Rachel

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