Mark and I have been fighting a private war. It flares up whenever we go anywhere that requires us to park.
Parking should be easy. For most people it is. For Mark it is an opportunity to pay me back for insults I have long since forgotten.
Mark parks as far, as inconveniently, as possible from the front door of any place we are going. Stores, restaurants, the emergency room with blood spurting from a severed artery. It doesn't matter. If there is a parking stall a block and half way, that is where he wants to park. That spot in front? He could never squeeze in there! There could be a flashing sign inviting him to park RIGHT in front of a store, not another car in the lot, and he will still choose to park at the back of the lot.
Now before you ask, this has nothing to do with having a cool car. He is not protecting his baby from possible scratches or dings. We don't own cool cars. We own a minivan.
I know, frightening isn't it.
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