I am not a Texan. Anyone who’s ever heard me utter a single syllable in my unmistakable Western Massachusetts whine knows this. I love Houstonians, though. Well, I love you for the most part.

Over the past 11 months I have decided that you — citizens of Greater Houston — are the worst effin’ motorists on God’s green earth. This is coming from a New Englander, mind you. We’re supposed to be the country’s worst drivers.

I spent the better part of a decade traveling among the six New England states through rain, sleet and snow without a single nick in the paint courtesy of another motorist. We’re intimidating and inconsiderate, but at least we pay attention. This summer I drove from Houston to Vermont and back passing through 21 states in the process without incident.

Since last December, my car has been to the body shop three times thanks to negligent Houston drivers.

By the grace of God I haven’t been injured, but it’s an incredible nuisance and you people are costing the insurance industry a fortune.

Here’s the breakdown:

TRIP 1: Dizzy blond tries to cross all six lanes of Kirby. I’m in the last lane. Car only had 6,000 miles on it at the time. Took six weeks to repair.
PRICE TAG: $6,400

TRIP 2: Some a-hole knocks off my rear bumper in a Valero parking lot while I was in the convenience store and leaves the scene. No witnesses. This is loudest I’ve ever cursed in public. Took two weeks to repair.
PRICE TAG: $1,600

TRIP 3: A spacey schmuck backs his Lexus SUV into the side of my car in the Central Market parking lot AND a chair falls out of the back of some jerkass’ pickup truck on I-10, hits another person’s car, bounces off the guard rail and then gashes my passenger door (these two events transpired within 36 hours of each other). This is the loudest I’ve ever cursed. Period.
PRICE TAG: TBD

I’m seriously considering covering the entire car in bubble wrap. You’ve got no excuse for this, Houston. You have no public transportation and never walk anywhere. It’s not like you don’t have plenty of practice.

Understand this, when your car is damaged by another person and requires repair work, it effectively voids your warranty on whichever end of the car is damaged. You’re permanently married to whatever body shop does the work. The Russell & Smith Collision Center down by Reliant is the only body shop that can ever touch my car again.

I am not a negative person, Houston. I’m a committed optimist, almost to a fault in fact. I love my mother, believe in God, bend over backwards for my friends, and even wish good things for all of my ex-girlfriends (even if a couple of them don’t deserve it). Why you hate my car so much, Houston, I can’t begin to explain. I keep telling everyone who will listen how great you and this city are. All I ask in return is that you stop ramming me.

If you’re reading this, I have a request: if you’re driving along and see a gray Ford Fusion Hybrid, please, for the love of God, stay the hell away from me.