Pet Peeves. We all have them. But what may drive me nuts might not faze you, and vise versa. My pet peeves generally occur while I’m driving. You should hear me during those moments. Well, on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t. What spills out of my mouth often surprises even me.Now don’t get me wrong; the following aren’t my complete list of pet peeves. I’m not sure such a list is ever entirely finished. Personally, I develop new pet peeves weekly. So here are my open letters (this week at least) to those who push my buttons (and maybe push yours)…

Dear slow drivers:

The gas pedal is there for a reason. Please use it. The speed-limit means you shouldn’t exceed that speed. It doesn’t mean you should drive 15 mph under it while in the fast lane. Or, come to think of it, in any lane.

Slow drivers cause accidents because fast drivers (like me) almost barrel into the back of your car. Everyone coming up behind you slams on their brakes. The end result is a traffic jam, all because you were sauntering down the freeway way below the speed limit.Here’s a word of advice (so people like me are not tempted to work a crossword puzzle while crawling behind you): If it appears you’re leading a funeral procession, you’re driving too slow. PULL OVER and let the 11 cars behind you pass.

Dear bike riders:

I bike too, so I can sympathize when you feel cars are running you off the road. But I have to tell you, you might be asking for it.

Sharing the road goes both ways

Riding side by side with your buddy on a curvy two-way road is a BIG no-no, yet it happens all the time. When you’re this oblivious, cars behind you can’t pass without risking a head-on collision, so traffic crawls along behind you.

Oblivious or just inconsiderate?

Here’s a tip: wait until your ride is over to chat. And buy a biking mirror. You’ll be able to see what’s happening behind you so you can thoughtfully shift your spandex-laden body into single file whenever cars approach. That’s so much simpler than losing your left leg to an impatient driver. Dear pet guardians:

If you insist that Spot accompany you in your car on a warm day, let alone a hot one, please consider cracking the window more than an inch. Nobody is going to steal a dead dog.

And who wants to see an animal panting in obvious distress because you left the window open only enough for a fly to squeeze through? What are you thinking?

Here’s my tip to solve that: sit in your car for 15 minutes under the same conditions and then tell me how comfortable it was. Of course, you’ll be explaining this from the emergency room after they revive you. That’s unless you have brain damage, of course.

Dear grocery store patrons:

Please get a clue. When you’re waiting in line, it would be awfully nice if you were aware that you will eventually need to pay for those groceries.I just love standing behind you while you’re reading People Magazine and then act surprised when the checker says what you owe.

You quickly put the magazine away (thank you for that), search through your crowded purse, can’t quite locate your wallet and then decide to pay in cash instead of the oh-so-easy (and quick) swiping of your debit card.

Worse yet, you keep everyone waiting while you insist on giving exact change, one sweet quarter, dime, nickel and penny at a time, all buried at the bottom of that monstrous purse of yours. Happy hunting.

Dear manufacturers of jar lids:

Why do you make your lids so tight that I need a tool caddy just to open my jar of jam?

Isn’t the object to be able to eat or drink whatever is under your lid? If so, you don’t make it easy. I twist until the lid striations are imbedded in my palm for a week; still doesn’t budge. I hit the side of the lid with the handle of a knife; no dice. I stick the tip of a bottle opener under the lip to loosen it, but still no jam. I try using one of those rubber pads that help grip and twist. No luck. I decide it’s not worth the effort and eat a piece of fruit instead. I shudder to think what those with arthritis do in these situations.

I suppose they just go without jam.