Where I Excel

I am a supreme parallel-parker.  

There was slight trepidation when I began (wo)manning our minivan, however, my skill quickly transferred from Corolla to Sienna and then became razor-sharp with the relatively new school routine D has dragged me into.  Most satisfying and most often is when the dismissal bell is seconds from ringing and I must wedge myself into spot that’s best suited for a SmartCar.  A small voice in the backseat whispers cautiously, “Too tight, Mummy?” and I always answer with a resounding, “Never!” 

The only part I could do without is what comes after, which is me speed-lumbering down the sidewalk to make sure I’m not late.  Walking is uncomfortable with two mini-melon-heads against my pelvis.  “Why not leave yourself extra time?” you might ask.  Because not only do I excel at parallel-parking, I also excel at arriving in the nick of time.   It’s a gift.

A highly entertaining You-Tube series would be, “Very Pregnant Ladies Walking Fast,” set to Flight of the Bumble Bee.  Am I right?        

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3 responses to “Where I Excel

  1. Maybe boyfriend should pull the videocamera out this weekend so you can make the bumble bee strut for you tube. With the writer’s strike and the last episode of Dexter on Sunday, there’s nothing to watch on TV. Come on, think of your loyal Banafish viewers…we are hungry for entertainment!!!

  2. As one who also likes to arrive “just in the nick of time,” I applaud your efforts; however, I’m seeing a potential problem, well, a potential problem 10 years from now when D comes home with a large dent in the car and when her aghast parents wonder what happened, she replies that a space is NEVER too tight!

    Just this morning I was thinking about our 10 hour SF trip coming up, thinnking how good it would be that I can help share the driving– but! I don’t know if I can drive a mini-van! Nevermind drive a mini-van with minis in it!

  3. I am great parker too but I tend to scuff the shit out of the tires. I’ve ruined more than one set of tires.

    Once the little woman and I were in central Washington looking at a particularly ugly 20 acres for sale. A good ol’ boy was there showing us around. We all walked the fence line, chewed on some grass and stared at the sun for a while. It was ugly property and he wanted too much. As we were leaving he noticed the scuffs on my tires and gave me a look of derision. I spit, glanced over my shoulder at my wife and said “women drivers.”

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