Getting A Good Parking Space Is Darned Hard

Pictured: Nancy Normal

Gracious! Goodness gracious! As if actually thinking of what groceries to buy and putting them all into your cart (like that Tetris game, almost -- it's fun but also can make Nancy a little nutty!) isn't enough, you have to find a good parking space, too! I swear, sometimes it's enough to make me want to "park" my keester in the couch and not go at all, even if it means a "truck" of a repercussion from Hubby. Haha, get it?

Well, today's parking was even more insane-o than usual. There was a space! No, a truck pulled in! Poop, another one! But wait, it's for handicapped people! I swear, sometimes I wish I was one of those cripples. "Beep beep," I'd say, rolling along with my pretty pink wheels. "Out of my way, norms!"

As I fantasized about a train hitting me to paralyze me so that I could get a shiny blue handicap parking pass, to my right, someone pulled out of their space. It was only about 20 feet from the store! I imagined myself paying the cashier with a confident smile, politely declining the services of the handsome bagger who really wanted to help me push my cart out (probably because I'm wearing a sleeveless dress that leaves little on my arms to the imagination) and walking right out to my car. Just thinking about it made me feel like the car's heat was on, even though it wasn't at all (I can barely figure out my VCR, though, so what do I know? Hah!).

But darned if a car didn't pull in the space ahead of me, even though my turn signal was on and blinking fast and hard, like my eyes sometimes do when I think too much and the insects start tugging at the corners of my vision. That's usually my big old sign that I need some of my "magic beans" (at least I didn't have to trade a donkey for them -- I just stretched the truth on the insurance claim!) but I didn't have them with me at this particular moment.

"Poop poop poop," I said, wishing that a nice-looking cart boy would come over to see what the fuss was, and also compliment me on how I didn't have any gray hairs (I picked out 47 this morning, but that'll be our little secret), but none did. Finally, with my silly, wacky eyes going all over the place like a couple of crazy mice, I got out of my car to see if maybe the person who pulled into my space was mistaken, or having a heart attack.

"Hi, hello," I said as the woman got out (too bad it wasn't a man, or I could've charmed my way into the space! Oh, if only Hubby read that, he'd "charm" me into next week, the fooler!). "I know my car is hard to see, and maybe you could use some of my magic beans, but I think you may have accidentally pulled into my space, and the bagger inside is waiting for me, so --"

"I was here first, hon," said the woman. "Get lost."

"Goodness," I said, as starfish swam in front of my eyes, frowning and yelling at me like my father used to. "The funny thing is, though, that I'm not handicapped, even though I wish I was, and it would be nice if I had that space, which I think was mine to begin with."

"Why?" she said. "Does it have your name on it?"

And wouldn't you know it, when I looked down at the space, sure enough, there was my name! "Reserved Just For Nancy," it said it fancy gold letters, like the kind I'm not supposed to look at under orders of Hubby. "Park Here And The Young Supple Bagger Will Be With You Shortly (Or Longly, Haha)." That's when I knew I was right, once and for all, and that's also when I saw Mothra in the distance, reminding me to put gas in the god damned car once in a god damned while, and why wasn't dinner ready yet?

"BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE TIME, HUBRA," I said, chasing the woman away and flailing my purse around. "THE BAGGER IS WAITING FOR ME!"

Well, after we talked a little more, that woman hightailed it out of there, and the space was mine! As for the bagger, well, that's another story!

Nancy Normal is a full-time housewife in Tellersville, PA. The other story about the bagger is that he was a nice young man.

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