We All Have Our Thing

The bus stop is the stay at home mom’s equivalent of the morning meeting, and sometimes, spouses, unwittingly provide us with topics for these meetings.

Like today, when one of the husband’s drove past us on his way to work and paused briefly to say to his wife, “You left me with no gas.”

She replied, “Yea, how’s it feel?”

He wisely rolled up the window and moved on, after all, the corner is not the place to air our gassing grievances.

As he drove off, my neighbor’s smile broadened. Feeling rather satisfied, she explained that her new motto in life is don’t get mad, get even. Trash, she said, was just going to get stuffed down until it burst and toilet paper rolls were not going to be replaced.

To which I chimed in, “You should just carry your own roll with you.”

“See, you know what I’m talking about,” she replied. Because, of course, I do. You can’t live in a family and not experience the joy of sitting on the toilet sans toilet paper.

But the truth is, toilet paper is not my thing. It’s not that issue that drives me to madness causing irrational and insane thoughts of revenge. No, my thing, at the moment (because it changes), is an inherited one, and one, according to the Internet, that I share with many others besides my kin. My thing, right now, is people parking in front of my house. Specifically, high school students, who park their cars in the early morning, walk through the woods, and leave said cars sitting in front of my house all day long.

I must get this from my father, who also shares my intolerance for people who decide that their favorite place to park is not in front of their own house (or the school parking lot, in my case) but in front of his house, or in the hotly contended corner space, in his first house, which I agree belonged to my dad. And, now, in his current home, the space to the right of his driveway, which I also agree belongs to my dad.

Now, I know we, the people, who believe the spaces in front of our houses belong to us, are not correct, since we don’t own the space, per se. And, we are not always popular with the people, who believe, we, the people, should just get over it, because, really, you don’t own the street and, don’t you have more important things to worry about than the parking spot in front of your otherwise peaceful home.

Well, I’m here to tell you that I can multitask my worries. I can worry about peace in the Middle East, the welfare of my children, what’s for dinner tonight, and the rude high schooler blocking off the access to my front walk way, thank you very much. I can also tell you that there are more of us, don’t park in front of my f-ing house people, than there are of those peace loving┬áthis is America people, i.e., you don’t own the street.

You see, as I’ve also learned on the aforementioned Internet, parking in front of another person’s house can drive ordinarily sane people to extremes. After a mere fifteen minutes of reading, I can now make fake bird poop, learned that I can push someone’s car into a restricted zone (provided there’s no emergency brake involved) and then call the towing company, and, if it is snowing and I’m really pissed, I can pack the snow all around a vehicle, pour some water on it, and that poor sucker won’t be moving until spring. Live in a warm climate? No worries,┬ájust box the inconsiderate parker into a half-inch of his bumper and he’ll get the message.

People feel passionate about their parking spaces, and you know what? I get it. It’s my thing.

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