Tuesday, November 21, 2006

The Parking Putz

Believe it or not, I can be obstinate. I can be stubborn. I can even be demanding.

Please try to suspend your disbelief.

And often, it is over things that are not really so important. Do you ever have tiny moments of rebellion? I do. One of them is so small, so insignificant, and yet so infuriatingly irritating to me that I just have to tell you.

It’s our church parking lot. Well, that and my husband.

You see, our church meets in a town hall, so there isn’t really a parking lot at all. It’s just a lot of yellow dust mixed with yellow gravel mixed with gray dirt. You get the picture.

Well, anyway, recently my husband decided to start parking WAY over on the other side of the parking lot, in the grass. When I asked him why, he said that he thought we should save the “good” parking spots for the older people in our church.

Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that really selfless? Isn’t that SO inconvenient for ME?

Parking there means I have to walk over gravel, dirt, and wet grass in order to get in the door at church. Which, of course, means my nice shoes are coated with muck when I do get in the door. This bothers me. Greatly.

So, I considered my options. First, I asked if he could drop me off at the door. He said he wanted to walk in with me. Okay. So, then I just asked him if we could maybe park a little closer, so at least I didn’t have to walk through the grass. No such luck. He’s still parking there. Last time, I lost my patience and told him that if he did it again, I was going to drive my own car to church and park in one of the “good” spots.

I know what you’re thinking. Because I’m thinking it, too. Why the big fuss over it? I don’t know. I just know that it drives me NUTS!

Because, YES, of course, I know what my response SHOULD be. I should be glad my husband is thinking of others. I should be glad that the older people have a closer parking spot. I shouldn’t care about my nice shoes that are basically unrecognizable as such now. I shouldn’t care what they look like and realize that mucking through the mud and grass isn’t the end of the world. I know, okay, I know.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who struggles with the right response to the little irritating things in life.

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