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Tag Archives: women drivers

Lost Pride and Parking Spots

The parking lot where Michael’s, King Kullen supermarket and Marshall’s converge is a frenzy of discount shopping, food and insufficient parking. You easily need to factor in 15 minutes circling time before you might be lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time when those reverse headlights flare. And you’d better hope you’re not near a revving Lexus who’s in the mood for chicken.

Today I considered myself lucky when it only took four laps of musical cars before I scored a spot at the far end of the lot. Then, having completed my extremely necessary mission to Michael’s for candy eyes for cupcakes, I head back toward my car, placing bets on which lucky lapper will win my coveted spot when I realize there’s a BMW parked illegally behind my car, making it virtually impossible for me to get out.

I’m mentally configuring the odds of a 456 point turn when a blonde woman with giant sunglasses steps from the vehicle. “Um, you know that’s not a spot,” I say but her head is too far up her ass to hear me so she just slings her Gucci bag over her shoulder and slams the door shut.

“Excuse me!” I say louder, “You can’t park there.”

She hears me now but I gather by the way she completely ignores me that she doesn’t want to acknowledge my existence and is about to stomp off in shoes that I would only fall off.

“How bout I back up into your car? I suggest with just a hint of confrontation.

That gets her attention but like the passive aggressive bitch she is, she just smiles and says, “Oh, you’re leaving. Great, I’ll take your spot.”

I don’t want to give her my spot. I want to back my beat up minivan right into her sleek silver driving machine. I want to crush the life out if. I wouldn’t even mind spending the rest of my life driving a car with a crumpled behind. It’s not like I don’t walk around with one of my own.

But that’s not nice manners or legal, so I get into my car, back up and leave. So unceremonious. So unsatisfying. So wimpy. I felt efeminated. I had been schooled by a bitch with a BMW and a good blow out.

I fume the whole way back to town up until I pull into the school to pick up my boys. As I am about to swing into a spot, I see a car opposite me angling to do the same. Ah, redemption! I will own that spot; a little turbo boost to my wounded ego.

But still I hesitate before I hit the gas, and in that second, the car across from me pulls in.

Argh! Foiled again!

Frustrated I drive on and find a spot, really only about 10 feet away, but that’s not the point.

Walking to the school, I see the person emerge from the vehicle who just stole my spot with my pathetic show weakness. Turns out to be my friend. We both brighten. She knows nothing of our parking duel to the death and how she bested me.

“Hey, I got you something,” She says, and knowing my affinity for all things sweet, pulls a pack of jellybeans from her bag.

I take them and smile. The Universe has soothed me. Apparently sometimes patience is rewarded.

But I still hope that chic from Michael’s gets her just desserts.


Oh this makes my blood boil!!

Smashing this car would definitely be justifiable.



Accidents and the drive to feel pretty

The windows are rolled down, the day is gorgeous and the wind is dancing in my hair, which just so happens to be fabulously clean. I’m working the stylish shades, flashing the Colgate smile and pretending to all I pass that I am just another young sexy thing in my young sexy car. Good thing I’m going at least 30mph. I couldn’t pull this off without the blur factor.

I’m not bold enough to roll back the soft top to drive at optimal coolness. Well, actually I’d have to take off the doors if we’re really talking optimal. But no matter, I am satisfied just being in this midlife crisis mobile and feeling like a rock star.

I shied away from driving it for the last couple of weeks because, I don’t know, it was so high off the ground and I had gotten used to the feel of a car, even if that car is a minivan. Plus it was all new and shiny, and I’m one of those old and dull people who kind of fall in love with comfortable.

It certainly would explain my closet where the only time I get new things is when my mother brings them over. I’m content in my well-worn wear. It’s so easy just picking up yesterday’s outfit off the floor or grabbing a new set of old gym clothes. Don’t judge.

But today I felt a little pressure to step it for the new car, so I was wearing my better old clothes with my newly washed hair and got a string of compliments. Really, have I set the bar so low that all it takes is washing my hair for people to notice? Well, there’s something to be said for that.

Still… Soft, creamy fabric, the clip clap of strappy shoes, the hot new car – it all makes me want to twirl and dance and smile for the cameras. It’s true that feeling pretty feels pretty fabulous. I guess I forget that sometimes since I’m usually feeling pretty tired or pretty lazy or pretty who gives a shit.

The only reason I’m driving the car today is because of an unfortunate altercation between me, my minivan and a stupid tree, that apparently showed up unexpectedly while I was backing up. And of course on this one day, my car’s rear sensors which always beep when things unexpectedly show up behind me weren’t on. But I’m not here to make excuses, well, except those already noted.

The aftermath was a broken rear taillight and a few minor dents and scratches. Nothing compared to some of the driving malfunctions I have inflicted on my poor mom machine. Like when I drove over the divider and got stuck. That was hysterical. Or when I crashed into a boulder right after it was fixed. Good times. So, really this was nothing.  Except that without my passenger side brake light and blinker working, it was no longer drivable.

For the time being, I will have to drive the new car.  Which means, until further notice, I’ll be sporting clean hair and might need to go shopping. I’ll also need to be extremely conscious of surprise agriculture and such.

I already miss the minivan.

Stupid tree

Stupid tree



Oh for the love of ice cream, someone call AAA!

We had 25 minutes to meet my husband and oldest son at his baseball game, which was only seven minutes away, when I passed my favorite yogurt store and made an impromptu decision – fantasized about for the entire day – to stop and get myself a cup.

“Nooooooo!” my two younger boys groaned from the backseat. “No stopping!”

I shot them my mean mom stare. “I don’t want to hear that. I do everything for you guys. You can eat ice cream for me. Sheesh.”

They just rolled their eyes, and shook their heads at my pathetic desperation. Who were these judgmental ice cream haters?

“It’ll just be a quick pit-stop.” I say, overly cheerful. The nearness to my fix makes me a little wild-eyed and fidgety.

We park in the closest spot, and within minutes, I am ordering myself a peanut butter and cappuccino covered in chocolate crunchies. Neither my five or eight year-old want anything. Really?

We’re back in the car lickety-split. “See, I told you guys. Perfect timing!”

I put the car in gear and go… straight over something. Oops. What was that? A curb? A small divider? Eh. Whatever. I’ll just keep going.

I hit the gas. The front of the car dips down over the curb? Bump? Divider? We stop. I try to go forward, but there is an ominous scratching sound. Uh oh.

“What’s that noise, mommy?” My eight year-old asks.

“Uh, nothing.” I hit the gas again. The screeching noise returns and the car won’t budge. I put it in reverse. Won’t budge. This could be bad.

“Are we stuck?” the backseat interrogator asks.

Out the window, people walking past stare at us with their mouths hanging open in horrified amazement, or possibly amusement.  A car goes by and the driver stares directly at me. I can read the slow motion words on his lips. “Oh Shiiiiit.”

There was nothing left to do, but get out and see the damage.

car stuck close up

Oh shit.

By now, a crowd had gathered to gawk and giggle at the dumb mom who can’t drive, and her amazing unmovable vehicle. Can’t go forward. Can’t go backward. Hear it wail in agony. Or, that might just be me.

I needed to call AAA, but first I needed to call…. my husband. Da Da Dummmm!

I was afraid, first because the car had recently been fixed from the bump in the night a few months back. Second, because last week, I did something similar over a rock.

car accident

Impressive, right?

My son’s game was minutes from starting.

“Hey, where are you?” My husband answers, all business.

“I had a little accident.”

From the backseat peanut gallery, “Mommy ran over a parking lot!”

“I did not run over a parking lot!” I huff.

Long exhale from my husband. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine. Not sure about the car, though.”

“Okay, just call AAA. Don’t worry.” Don’t worry? He must have been surrounded by parents and children. Hope they all come home with him.

I look over to my yogurt; the crunchies perfectly melted into the sweet creamy goodness. If I wouldn’t have stopped, we would be at my son’s game right now, and my sons wouldn’t be chanting from the backseat, “Mommy can’t drive! Mommy can’t drive!”

I leisurely reached for the cup. Wasn’t like we were going anywhere.

car stuck tow truck

My hero!

car stuck tow ramp