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?