Monday, Jun. 28, 2004 | 2:38 p.m.
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So last night I was on my way home from the store and I tried to park Jeff's oversized orange peni-- er, truck -- in a space that is tight at best and was challenged by the addition of Rowan's car parked in the turning radius. I hesitated for a minute when I pulled into the alley, asking myself, "Should I park parallel to Ro's car instead of trying to pull into this space?" "Naw," my inner-co-dependent-pleaser scoffed. "You'll be in someone's way. Better try it."
So I did. And I shouldn't have. I hurt Jeff's truck to the tune of about $2000 of body work. Ugh. And you know what happens when you nick a penis, right? It bleeds testosterone all over everything. So now when I go out for a short lunch of Indian food (which Jeff doesn't like) with Rowan, who is visiting from Mississippi, and then take her to Other Ports -- which I checked in on -- he gets all huffy about it, demanding to know where I've been. Hmph. I should have said sweetly, "Why... making the driver's side of your truck match the passenger's side, of course." That would have spawned a heart attack for sure. But no, I'll just quietly let him watch his lame 80's action flick and eat his freakin' hamburger, which he did not bother to thank me for picking up, thank you very much, because he was too busy demanding to know my whereabouts.
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