Parallel Universe

If you live in a big city or grew up in one, you should know how to parallel park. I grew up in a suburb where parallel parking was never needed because every strip mall, bowling alley, library, every conceivable place you might want to go to by car, had parking lots. Yet I know how to parallel park. Mark on the other hand acts like he's trying to dock the Queen Mary in a bathtub. After fifteen minutes of maneuvering all he has to show for it is a car skewed three feet away from the curb at a 45 degree angle.

I credit my parking ability to my high school drivers ed teacher who, despite one girl in our car who ran over a skunk, never, ever, raised his voice. I remember him saying in a very calm tone, as the car filled with skunk stench, "Next time you might want to avoid hitting the wildlife." He was a good teacher.

When Mark and I go out on Fridays, he often has to park on the street. It took me a while to figure out that Mark cannot, if his life depended on it, parallel park a car. After a few scraped wheel covers, and dinged fenders we have come up with our own routine for parking the car. After hunting down an appropriate parking space, Mark will stop along side it, get out, and I will slide over and do the parking. Yes, it is safer, and easier if the half blind guy parks the car. Even if the spot is tighter than Joan Rivers face, I can get that car in there in two quick moves. I don't know how Mark parks when I'm not with him, I don't want to know, but my only other option would be to buy him a self parking Lexus. That's not going to happen.