Your ex-girlfriend used to design parking lots and since she left you’ve been unable to park your car without being reminded of her. She hurt you real bad, left you for your landlord, and you just can’t handle knowing that every time you park your car you might be doing it thanks to her ingenuity of drawing straight lines on a paved lot. It’s made it so that every time you get into your car to run an errand, you find yourself unable to park. You just keep driving until you run out of gas or open the door and roll out of the car while it’s still moving, hoping that it crashes lightly into a tree or a river and not some kids.
Your therapist was good enough to give you one last session. He’s running beside your car right now, trying to open the passenger door. He needs you to go slower.
“I’m only going five miles per hour,” you shout at him.
“Slower!” he pants. “I can’t get in!”
“I’m going three miles an hour! If I go any slower I’ll park. I can’t park!”
“I can’t get in. Slower!”
He’s grabbing at the door handle, slapping at it but he can’t seem to get a good enough grip to open it.
“This won’t work! Call me!”
You keep driving and you watch your therapist shrink in the rear view. You look over at the door and realize you forgot to unlock it. You can’t help but burst out laughing. You laugh and you laugh until you see the post office and you roll out of the car to pick up some stamps. The car crashes into a Blockbuster Video, which is convenient since you had to return “Becoming Jane” anyhow. It's sitting on the dash.
Happy You Can’t Stop Driving Day!
