Mr. Husband has recently acquired the skill set necessary to tuck the Toddler in for the night, so I decided to throw myself a little freedom party by running to the grocery store for some very much so needed milk and veggies. (I'm wild and crazy like that.) As I zipped up and down the aisles, grabbing things left and right without a deranged Toddler nor very many deranged grown-ups to drag me down, I was thinking that I might have to make it a habit to do my grocery shopping late at night on the weekends. The local craptastic supermarket is WAY more tolerable when there's hardly anybody else there.

I changed my mind after what had to be the most confusing five minutes I've ever spent in a grocery store parking lot (considering I worked at a grocery store for a while in college, that sort of is saying something).

I'm one of those polite and not lazy people that put the cart away when they are done with it (we rock). As I was walking across the four spaces between the cart return and my car, some chick thought it would be fun to pull through the spaces in the middle of the lot and park three feet in front of me, directly between me and my car. So, I walked all the way around her car and then stopped to wait by my trunk. I don't know what I was thinking, maybe that the lady was planning to get out of her car and go in the store? Since her driver's side door was right next to my driver's side door, I guess I made the crazy assumption that we would have to take turns opening doors.

So I waited.

And I waited. I just knew that if I tried to get in my car, she would suddenly throw her door open and whack mine. She totally looked like the type that attacks stranger's cars.

Finally, she rolled down her window and asked, "Can I help you with something?"

I'm sure the look on my face was priceless at that very moment. Somehow, I managed to construct a sentence about how I was just waiting to get in my car.

"Oh, am I in your way?"

Ding! We have a winner! Of course, I didn't actually say that, I just displayed my second priceless expression of the night.

Slowly the woman fumbled with her keys, reached over to her glove compartment to fumble some more, and then finally made her way out of her car.

As she walked past me, I realized she had something in her hand. It was a little bitty can. She had it poised perfectly in her palm, with a finger on top, as if she was ready to spray something.

I can't swear to it, but I think the lady was carrying mace. You know, just in case I habitually stalk women late at night in a grocery store parking lot. I do indeed prefer women who don't know how to park, and that need five minutes to get out of their cars.