I got lucky today.
No, pervert, not that “Lucky” (Well, O.K, I did, but that’s not what I’m talking about)…
I was at the mall today and guess what?..I got “the” space, yes indeedy, I AM THE MAN! WhoooHoo!. Your smiles of congratulations are sooo transparent. Women want me and Men want to be me, I am “The Guy Parked Next To The Door!” of course you may still call me 'Cake but I fully expect a certain tone of respect from now on.
That and no more stick drawings of me on the bathroom walls depicting unspeakable acts with Bea Arthur and and an industrial size barrel of liquid, squeezable, “I Can’t Believe Its Not Butter” brand Margarine. Tim Patterson’s lawyers have contacted me and advised me of potential copyright infringement issues, you would be surprised what sick stuff you can trademark nowadays. Now cut it out.
So, as I am pulling in and thinking just how freakin great this is, it dawns on me that I feel Ten Feet Tall and Bullet-proof just because I stumbled into a parking spot that is close to the door!. Yeah, I’m easy to please but if you were in that glorious position I assure you that you would have felt the same way. I am also sure that there are many T-Men sheepishly lowering their heads right now because they KNOW they do the same. What is it that makes us feel that way? simple, VICTORY. I won, you didn’t Haha, LOSER!
That’s all it is, just like when you shoulder past the clutch of blue haired old ladies and seize the last bag of Epsom salts knowing that it will be YOU and not some wrinkled old hag soaking in a candlelit bathroom with the jets on full blast…Mmmm…I mean um, ah, your Wife!, yeah, your Wife! will be soaking, cause really, what kind of T-Man takes long, salty soaks in jetted tubs while he reads books by candlelight and composes silly posts, that would be weird right?, right?
Anyway, bag in hand I am off to search for some new workout t’s thinking “Hey, why waste such a great parking spot for a 5 minute stop”. It’s this kind of insightful thinking that got me where I am today, which was unfortunately standing in front of rather large rack of…SPEEDO’S!. Please ask your children to leave the room before this gets any uglier, I’ll wait…
O.K, as I said, there was a WHOLE rack of them, in shudder all sorts of colours and designs, it’s almost as if they expect to SELL THEM! Who, I ask you, just who the heck is buying SPEEDO’S and why and where are they going to be, can we get a list from some Government agency so we can protect ourselves? What of the elderly, sure us youthful folks can just run away but think about Aunt May hopping along with her walker trying to outpace a herd of Hairy backed, Gold chain wearin’, Firebird drivin’ SPEEDO wearin’ Guido’s. I can hear the ABBA blasting from the 8 track already.
For Christ’s sake, the woman has perfect vision!, at least cataracts would provide some low level protection but this is like looking at the sun here. I’ll miss Aunt May.
Maybe I am over reacting, maybe no one will buy them, maybe they’ll all sit there until summer has come and gone and then be shipped to Weider for use as posing suits in next years Olympia contest.
A man can hope.
And my victory? well after the t-suppressing sight of all those shiny nut sack’s, the space somehow didn’t seem quite so important, believe it or not, it seemed like “just” a parking spot.
Now I know how women feel about parking. I hope I recover.
“A real patriot is the fellow who gets a parking ticket and rejoices that the system works”
~ Bill Vaughan