There was a parade along my street, which is one of the things I love about my street. All parades must pass through here ❤️

That’s The Grinch inside of jail; I would have traded places with him earlier.

Something happened in a Costco parking lot, and I need you to tell me if I have lost my mind.

First of all, can we all agree that a Costco parking lot on a Saturday is where hope and optimism go to commit suicide?

Great.

I dropped my mother off so she wouldn’t have to drive around with me while I looked for parking. Do people who shop at Costco hate themselves? Or do they just hate other people? Costco has the greatest hot dogs; why aren’t their customers more…jovial?

Engaging in that parking lot was like wrangling demented and hysterical infant toddlers.

The decisions made by other people looking for parking was as logical and coherent as the train of thought established by an adult who decides to run into the middle of a street, pull down their pants, and relieve themselves. Meaning, about as much sense as the logistical planning it would take to clean your ass on the below bidet. Also, the necessary time off of work afterwards to recover.

I still don’t know how this bidet works, by the way, and no one has given me a clear instruction manual I am still convinced that the Portuguese lie on their backs and throw their legs into the air. Please everyone wash your bums, why don’t you already it freaks me out so much I stop grammaring?!?!

After about 20 minutes of anxiety and building rage, I spotted a man loading his trunk. I pulled over, put on my ticker, and waited. He saw me. We made eye contact, I smiled and he smiled. He kept loading his car, while I waited patiently.

Parking lot etiquette: You sit and wait quietly. But you signal that you are waiting, which is what I did.

I waited some more. And some more. Patiently because this was literally the only spot available and I could hear other people screaming and honking, and I am pretty sure lighting cars on fire. Hand to God, an engine exploded. I waited nearly 10 minutes. While he kept looking at me occasionally smiling.

I thought I was okay.

After ten minutes, he closed the trunk, returned the cart, smiled and waved at me.

And then.

And then.

HE SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT.

Agog. I was agog. I have no other word. My mouth flew open and smashed my chest.

I opened my door, got out, grabbed my bat, walked over to his side of the car and started smashing. And what I mean by this is I politely made a small squeeky honking sound and waved. He looked at me, and smiled. Does he have water on the brain?, I wondered. I bet he knows how to use those bidets, I secretly raged.

Staring at him, now he wasn’t making eye contact. So I waved some more, with increasing hysteria and made the universal sign for IS YOUR UNWASHED ASS STAYING, YOU SMILING BUFFOON?, to which buffoon smiled some more and nodded YES I AM STAYING I AM A BUFFOON I DON’T WASH MY BUM.

I gave him the bird and then drove off really fast. By which I mean that I mouthed a hysterical OKAY, gave him a thumb is up, and pulled away to cry in the next parking lot while I blocked traffic.

How was your day?

Today, I am grateful for:
1. Long and hot baths with candles and oils. I scorched myself into one this evening because of this day. I needed it more than I knew.
2. Poppy, for helping me get through the roughest patch of today and for gently reminding me of a lesson I forgot – she reminded me to soften. Soften. Soften. When I was so hard and edgy.
3. Taking good advice when it is sent to me.

Ottawa | Day 351 | November 16, 2019

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