A Close Call

We almost had a tragedy in North Chuck this morning. While running errands this morning, a woman at Target came thisclose to hitting the suppository. Not good.

Now, I know my car looks like something you shove up the tenderest of places when your children don't feel so hot and you feel like being particularly cruel. Okay, maybe that's just us. Anyway, I proudly drive around town in one of about 5 suppositories. There are 2 silver, 1 a bluish-greenish-silverish mess, and 2 golden. It could be worse. We could be in the blue/green/silver situation.

But this woman almost hit my precious suppository. I was aghast. Shocked. Dumbfounded. And a little bit ticked. She wasn't paying attention to what she was doing...which, by the way, was backing in and out of a parking space to get things just right, because she was driving more truck than she could handle. This is one of my major pet peeves. If you can't handle the car, get something smaller. SuperHubby can't park the suppository to save his life. And it slays me. I can't parallel park, but I can drive this puppy like there's no tomorrow.

I've become a car snob. This is actually pretty funny, considering what I drive. But since I've been driving the suppository, I don't like driving a car. SuperHubby has nothing to worry about. I hate driving his car. I feel like I'm sitting on the ground. I feel like I'm in a sports car. I hate sports cars. I like my big bubbly van to surround me and make me feel safe.

Plus, when you drive a suppository, there's not much chance of it getting stolen.