The Art of Stopping

driving 1

I had a wonderful reminder the other day about what is important in life. At least what is important to me—laughter and the art of not taking oneself too seriously.

Man-wonder and I were off on a two-hour break together. We decided on the local coffee shop for two reasons:

  1. I was in desperate need of voices that didn’t matter to me, just loud waves of noise from other lives. Voices I could eavesdrop on and then tune out. And kitchen sounds I knew weren’t calling to me so what better place than an active Tim Hortons coffee shop? A place where no one knows my name.
  2. Man-wonder will go anywhere there are doughnuts and coffee.

“I’ll drive.” I said in my usual bossy-ish manner. “We’ll get there faster.”

True statement. We are the hare and the tortoise when it comes to driving. Only this hare has to use some caution since tortoise gets carsick when I forget he’s there and really get into the driving.

At the mall I dropped Man-wonder off to do a piece of quick business while I found a parking spot by the coffee shop. It always amazes me how people will ignore a shaded parking spot to park closer to the coffee shop. Sure enough there were empty parking spaces near the short cement wall separating the lot from the road way. And under shade of trees too!

I backed into a spot between two cars forgetting about Man-wonder’s work trailer hitch which meant I stopped sooner than expected. And harder.

Here’s where I always wonder—why is there an audience when we do something daft?

Right beside me, two feet away is a woman relaxing in her car, enjoying a cuppa and a read.

At least until I arrived.

I gave the passenger door a  glance wondering if I could slither over the console and out that side of the car avoiding eye contact. But sadly, my slithering days are long gone.

I sighed and made eye contact.

She was wearing one big shit-ass grin and holding up a thumb. Holding it up like a trophy on display.  I laughed and with a flick of my short hair, climbed out of the truck and said to her, as casual as you please, “And they think I don’t know how to drive.”

“What do they know eh?” She nods at the back of my truck. “You got the stopping part nailed. “

I laughed all the way into the cacophony of voices filling the coffee shop.

Thank you, dear lady, wherever you are. Whoever you are. You reminded me to laugh at myself.

And that’s a very good thing.

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