An open letter to the woman who rammed her plus-size shopping cart into my Achilles tendon yesterday.

Dear Wham-Bam-Shopping-Ma’am:

I hold this truth to be self evident: at Costco, all people shop as equals, and each is entitled to the pursuit of life, case lots of corn dogs, and the shortest line at the check-out stand.

I make this claim because Costco, evidently, granted you the unsecured right to operate a fully loaded stainless-steel mobile ankle smasher known as a “shopping cart.” Your ability and demonstrated willingness to both steer and stop said vehicle was apparently not a concern for them. I have the lump and limp to prove it.

Blinded as I was by the tears of surprise, pain, and rage, I did not get a good look at your face. However, on the way down to grab my foot and make sure it was still attached to my leg, I got an eyeball full of those lime green velor pants you were sporting as you fled the scene.

Rest assured, I’ll be watching for those lime green pants. And if they so much as make a tight right into the frozen french fry aisle without using the turn signal, they’ll find themselves on the business end of an “accidental” pizza sample encounter they won’t soon forget.

Sincerely, Kathy