There is this lovely little road near my house that I use at least two days a week. It reminds me of old Roswell, the Roswell where I grew up-- rolling hills, kudzu patches, horses in pastures, dappled forests, and those little hills between the power lines that make me miss cantering on a fall day. So relaxing, even with the treeless McMansion neighborhoods marring nature's splendor.
That is, until the government showed up. Every day for months, they've been doing some sort of road work. Digging, grading, cutting limbs. You always get stopped at least once and have to wait for whatever they're doing, which usually seems to be standing around pickup trucks and pointing while wearing hard hats. And it drives me simply batty.
It's the driving equivalent of being in the middle of savoring a really nice meal and having the waiter interrupt your gastronomic delight and witty repartee to present you with the bill. I just don't want any sort of reality on my wistful old Cox Road. I want to pretend i'm back in rural South Carolina, singing to Jude on the way to a really good trail ride. I want to feel the wind in my eyes and smell the coolness of the kudzu. I do not want to be stopped for 10 minutes while you repave the entrance to The Enclave. Again.
So that's my little rant for the day: stay off Cox. Keep Cox natural. I like Cox, until there are guys in hats to mess with my drive, and then I hate Cox.
That's not a euphemism at all, folks. It just sounds that way.