- I hate - hate - the Chicago Way of Parking. Furniture-Fu sucks canine nether parts. In the netherworld. The street is public property, you selfish imbeciles! I took two days to dig my car out, and when I left the parking spot, I left it for any of my fellow citizens who could navigate into it. I did not place packing crates, ironing boards, lawn furniture or dining room chairs in the spot, awaiting my return. Because it's public goddamn property. And did I mention I think little of your parentage or your ability with the spoken word? Or upright posture? Asshats.
- My bad driving habits - yelling obscenities loud enough inside a car almost hard enough to break blood vessels in my eyeballs (windows rolled up, I'm not that mad) at other drivers - while undoubtedly good for my mental health, is not good for my passengers. Especially when they are my far-more-chi-centered Best Beloved.
- My bad driving habits - so bad that my sainted mother, who, in her prime would take corners like Mario Andretti, would look askance at me - bleed into my parking habits.
- It's a good thing my Best Beloved eventually dumped me off at the back door, holding onto his frayed temper with admirable constraint, and telling me he'd find a parking spot.
Thank you, and good night.