By any stretch of the imagination, my favorite weekday activity is attempting to get into the driver seat of my car after discovering upon entering the garage that my husband has managed to park his truck too close to mine. By any stretch…here’s how it rolls.
Step one: notice the extra room on the passenger side of the car and think ‘how nice’. Throw all the bags and a laptop into the passenger seat. Step two: notice after looking at my watch that unless I get going quickly, I am going to be late to work. Note that the weather is chilly, yet lovely. Take a moment to breathe in the fresh air outside the garage. Walk around to the driver seat of the car. Discover that unless my entire body is suddenly 100 percent dehydrated, there is no way that I am going to be able to enter the car from this side. Step three: consider for precisely one second running back upstairs to wake up my husband to come downstairs to move his offending vehicle.
Step four: walk back around to the other side of the car. Take all bags and laptop out of the car and throw them into the back seat. Take a deep breath and enter the front seat, left leg, left side, right leg, right side. Close passenger side door. Step five: attempt to lift and re-locate left leg and entire left side up and over the center console, while simultaneously moving right leg and right side slowly to the left. Discover that long hair, my bent neck, a work lanyard, a necklace and a parking permit when converging underneath a rearview mirror, are highly likely to become stuck.
Acknowledge five long seconds of panic. Realize that I might die this morning. Calm down.
Step six: try again and fall ungracefully into the driver seat only to discover that the shoe lace of my right shoe is now hooked around the radio volume knob. Stretch forward to untangle the right foot shoe lace while listening to a series of weird popping noises coming from both knees…painless, yet weird.
Step seven: figure out a way to move the right leg and the rest of my entire right side up and over the console, away from the radio, under the dashboard and the steering wheel while listening to more strange and disturbing popping noises emanating from both knees and possibly my lower back. Painless…and yet…and yet.
Open the driver seat door to untangle the seat belt. Strap myself in and re-slam the door. Make sure I can actually sit up straight after all of these gymnastics and realize that this afternoon will require a trip to the chiropractor. Finally, back out of the driveway while my husband sleeps blissfully on and unaware…knowing for sure that I am going to be very, very late…
690 Saint Paul 