I Still Wish I Had, Just A Little.

A long time ago, when I only had two kids, when I was still in my twenties, I lived in this apartment building in downtown Denver.  I had an assigned parking space, and right after I returned from a two week trip to Phoenix, I noticed that the space next to mine was occupied.  By an asshat.  I swear, that little red VW Jetta or whatever was never parked straight.  That car was almost completely diagonal in its spot, all the time, and it meant that I couldn't open the back door on the drivers side to get my kid out of his carseat.  The first time, I didn't worry about it.  The second time, I grumbled.  The third time, I came *this* close to leaving a little note, which would have gone something like this:

"If you fuck like you park, you'll never get it in."

I didn't.  Thank god.  The asshat owner of the car turned out to be a tragically cute boy who is now my kids' godfather, and his mother is now my best friend, and yeah, that would have just been awkward.

There's no point, really, except to say that it turns out, I'm not the only one with a penchant for finely crafted notes.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go laugh until I cry the rest of this mascara off.