Who was the idiot that came up with this Content Challenge, anyway? I’ve written here more this month than I have the entire year, and the more I write, the more my mind churns. The more my mind churns, the more I actually think about stuff, and the less I am convinced that my skull is filled with cotton wadding. This is a problem because, if I need some cotton wadding and think I already have some, I won’t pick it up next time I go to the store. If I think I might or might not have some, I am overcome with paralysis at the whole situation.
Here is what I am thinking about this bright morning. Besides cotton wadding. For once, it’s not the pope or even the tiki spirits, who got into the Irish cream last night and are sleeping it off under a pile of laundry.
No, it’s silly, but I’m thinking about the time a couple of weeks ago I came back to my car after work and found a note on the windshield. A note on your windshield is never a good thing. It never says, “Your pecs are looking nice, handsome!” or “Congratulations on your high fuel economy!” It usually says, “I crashed into you and ran away! Tra-la!”
This one said something like, “I can’t believe your rudeness in parking in front of my house! Next time, find a place that doesn’t block anyone’s house!”
The house in question was not a mystery for the ages, being, you know, right next to my car. It was one of those tiny Baltimore rowhouses, narrow and low. An peek in the window revealed a dim living room crammed with dingy furniture and wan-looking cats. For a split second, I tried to imagine what life was like for this lunatic with her “polite parking” crusade. Then irritation won out, and I wrote a note in response, stuck it in her door, and drove off in a cloud of dust.
It was not a nice note.
The next day, when I parked on the same block, I got a ticket.
Evil tiki spirits!!!
