I dropped the boys off at Grandma’s house the other night and was heading home for 24 hours of time with my honey. Things were looking good until I hit a full-on traffic standstill on the good old Taconic. I didn’t move for about 10 minutes. Then it was a slow crawl. Then there was a cop with flashers in the left lane forcing everybody in the left lane over to the right, and everybody in the right lane onto the shoulder. This was especially annoying because there was a line of cars hugging the cop’s butt, so as he passed, about 12 jerkoffs took advantage. I blame the cop. Why didn’t he just drive in the shoulder? It would have been a hell of a lot faster than waiting for two lanes of traffic to push over. And there would have been a lot less angry glaring.

In the end there was no sign of an accident. No twisted metal, no tow trucks. Things just started clearing up at one point and then we were all doing 60 again. Now, I’m not saying I want to see anyone hurt, but isn’t that just so frustrating? After a half hour of stop and go anxiousness, you kind of expect a reason for it all, right?

But let me get to the point. I couldn’t help noticing the vanity plate FRENCHY on a big, black Cadillac. When I came up alongside the car for a moment I got a look at the driver. I can’t be sure, but the woman driving, her age, her general carriage…it could have been Didi Conn. (That would be the actress who played Frenchy in the film version of Grease.) Hey, if the height of your career was playing Frenchy on-screen in 1978, and now you’re reduced to infrequent voiceover work and an appearance on Where Are They Now on VH1…well, let’s just say I think it would be an ok license plate.

Here’s the thing, though – Frenchy totally cut me off when traffic started moving. She almost clipped me with her frickin’ Sedan Deville. Come on, Frenchy! You made pink hair famous. You got to hang out with Stockard Channing and Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta and Jeff Conaway (he’s the guy from Taxi, remember?) Frankie freaking Avalon serenaded you in a Diner. That wasn’t enough? You’ve got to cut me off when all I’m trying to do is get home?

It’s alright, Frenchy. I’m not one to hold a grudge. Though I do have to ask, what the hell were you doing on the Taconic Tuesday night?