Road rage: Part II

Sometimes I do things on impulse. Kind of like Camus' Meursault: unreflective and sensation-seeking. Today it was just a kneejerk facial gesture, but it could have gotten me into a lot of trouble.
I was driving home from picking Nicholas up from the sitter's. After I crossed the Whitman Street bridge, I stopped behind a long line of cars at the stoplight there. There wasn't much space to get into the right-hand turn lane; I was blocking it. A blue sedan behind me honked just as I darted down it and turned. The driver must have wanted me to get out of his way, but I thought nothing of it. He didn't feel the same way. Instead, he drove up along side me and cussed at me from his open window.
Tough Guy's baseball cap was cocked to one side. I couldn't hear him -- my windows were closed -- so I gave him a blank look. What the heck? Then he shouted again and gave me a challenging stare. Now I was annoyed. I jutted my chin toward him and perked my eyebrows as I stopped in a left-turn lane. You really want some?
That was all Tough Guy needed. He stopped about 50 yards away (this was a four-lane street) and continued his unheard shouting, only this time he cracked his door and waved a rolled-up umbrella in the air. Gimme a break. Seriously? I just shook my head while I waited for my light to turn, but that only antagonized him.
Then I remembered my three-year-old son was in the back seat and testosterone antics were really the last thing I wanted to impress upon him. If the light hadn't changed at that moment, I think Tough Guy would have backed up his car to set me straight with that umbrella of his.