Running errands without the kids inevitably ends with me sitting in the van in some parking lot or other, eating chocolate while pretending that listening to CBC is an acceptable form of socializing.
A couple of weeks ago I was doing just that when I noticed a Winnebago inching its way into the parking spot beside me. I glanced at the driver, an older gentleman with an impressive beard, suggestive stare, and energetic eyebrows. The woman beside him was fussing with her hair while making pouty faces in the rear view mirror, all the while casting furtive glances in my direction.
I turned my attention back to the radio, popped another piece of chocolate in my mouth, and melted even further into my seat. The minutes ticked by and I could feel them staring. I looked up and saw the man making a rolling motion with his hand. For the window? For something else? I shook my head and started the van. If you’re looking for a third, I thought, I’m not your gal.
It was somewhat of a turning point for me, so I have decided that from now on I will eat my chocolate sitting in the van in the driveway where, I would assume, most slightly unhinged parents go when they are looking to escape.