Currently Kay and I are hanging out in the darkened living room while Liam naps on the couch. He's been phenomenally awesome and is loving having his Nana here, even though she doesn't let him get away with things that I can tell he expects to be able to get away with now, like standing up on the couch or letting his sippy cup drip on the coffee table so he can splash in the puddle. Go, Nana!
I am sitting on the floor with some pillows, sipping the coffee Kay bought me on our way back from running errands and trying not to think about what happened while we were innocently running errands. But since I am trying not to, I am, so I am going to tell you about it because I am sure you've all missed my long-winded stories about things of little importance to the world.
I think we all know the rules of driving in parking lots: stop or at least yield when you pull out of your row, look both ways thoroughly before backing out of your spot, and don't block people's way on foot or wheels. Other than that, I am pretty sure there just are no rules.
Normally I don't patrol the entire parking lot for the closest possible space. I like to park where it's easiest and get a little more walking in. Today though, I was at Wal-Mart to purchase three things. Just three. I saw an open parking space near the front and I pulled into it.
Little did I know this innocent act would give someone a fracking stroke. I turned off my car I was getting out when I see a lady behind me in an SUV yelling at me. She's laying on her horn. She's telling me (in fewer words than this because she was not a native English speaker) that essentially she was born deserving that very parking spot at Wal-Mart in Auburn, Maine, and she's been waiting her whole life for it and I am standing in the way of her destiny by not getting back into my car and moving so that she can claim her very special parking spot. And she just waits, watching me. So I tell her that she should probably find another spot because I am not moving. Because really? Seriously? Does she think I am actually going to put my child back into the car seat and move for her? Destiny, schmestiny.
She sits there honking some more and yelling at me about it being her spot. People are watching now. She's lingering, yelling and honking, like she is going to harass me into submission. I'm looking at her like she's crazy, and I finally start yelling back at her because I
I can't even remember what I said, but I let her know I am not moving my car and she needs to find another spot. She's rolling away, still yelling, trying to be menacing in her big, bad Envoy. I take note of her license plate number in case she gets crazier. She calls me selfish and finally drives away, as slowly as possible, probably giving me the Evil Eye I couldn't even see through her tinted windows.
She is lucky she encountered the more passive of the McCourtney-Wolfs. Had Gabe been with me, she would have scampered away, whimpering, in the hellfire and hail that would have rained down upon her for yelling at his wife. In fact, I think the entire conflict would not have even gone down if she'd seen Gabe unfold himself from the driver's seat. He has a notorious Don't eff with me face that just comes naturally. I've seen grown men pry their tail out from their asscracks for looking at me for longer than what's appropriate.
For the record, when we returned to the parking lot my car had not been vandalized, and this lady had found a spot just three down from mine and had to walk an extra fifteen feet to the entrance of Wal-Mart. Oh, the nerve of me.
Then some old lady got lost and bewildered at a red light and pulled into my lane when I was turning left on a green arrow. Where are these people coming from today?
Dear Universe: Please don't make me yell at anyone else in front of my sweet mother-in-law.