Today while parking at the third school building in two days to hold an orientation/sneak-a-peek/meet-n-greet sort of function for its student body, I had to parallel park. The real kind – no curving sidewalk, not enough space to just drive in forward and back up a tad. I had to pull up next to the car in front, back into the space at the perfect angle, edge forward a tad, back a tad, and done. Three moves. And it was BEAUTIFUL. I wanted to take a picture it was so good. I DID ask my 9-year-old if he happened to have any gold stars on hand, because that parking job was totally gold star material, I am telling you.
And it mattered to me, because it’s my anniversary. And I’m married to one of the two good friends who taught me to parallel park the night before my driver’s test. I mean technically I knew how before, but they LET ME PRACTICE ON THEIR VEHICLES. I wonder if their parents would have let them do that if they had known. I mean, just for curiosity sake, what do you suppose an insurance plan might do if a permit-wielding 16-year-old scrapes the side of your 16-year-old’s car while learning to parallel park or crashes into your 16-year-old’s truck when he jokingly told her to floor it and she obeyed?
It didn’t happen. I mean, I didn’t hurt anyone’s car that night, and I ACED the parallel parking portion of my test the next day.
And five years and some days later, I married one of those guys who made me a parallel parking rock star. And fourteen years after THAT … I totally still have it.
I’m pretty sure it’s a sign.