Don't mind my incoherent ramblings. That's what you get at 2 in the morning when sleep fails to visit this girl. I was thinking about how parking lots have played a part in my life. When we were newlyweds, Ben and I would drive to a nearby high school, get out and look for pennies in the vacant parking lot. If we found forty cents without a quarter in the mix and used a buck fifty in gas to get there, we were illogically thrilled. As time has gone by, penny spotting still brings idiotic joy. I now pick up a penny and think with the way interest rates are in the bank, a penny seems a more valuable return than in '98. (And I've heard that a penny cost more than a penny to make in metal...no wonder our government is broke.) Keeping this in mind, I have never minded parking a little further in a parking lot to get a longer corridor in which to look for coinage. When the weather is clear, why do drivers keep circling for that perfect spot right next to the last handicap space? Instead, why not park out and power walk to the front door? In the process if you have quick vision and stooping ability you might find that nickel from your birth year.
Well, recently I know why distant parking spots remain open and close ones do not. It started with an extravagant Christmas gift from my husband. My first pair of cowboy boots. They are a beautiful chestnut brown with fancy stitching. They only make me a few inches taller, but mentally I'm sky high when I wear them. Who would of thought that cowboy boots would change my parking patterns? Now I am the driver circling for that elusive close spot, because the economist in me doesn't want to wear out perfectly good shoe leather. I want these boots to last forever.
1 day ago