27.10.98

She manouvers into the space with such ease and skill. I am amazed - being one of the non-driving set, parallel parking is a mystery to me.

"That's a lovely red colour," I murmur, watching the car in front of us, which my mother is trying so desperately not to scrape.

"Yes, it is," she agrees, "but i don't want any of it on our white car."

"Wow. you did that so well," I compliment her. (It's rare that I'll extend a compliment to my mother - don't want to boost her ego, after all.)

"Thankyou."

I go through my purse, looking for my job-seeker card. "damnit."

"What?"

"It's not there."

We argue apathetically about whether I should go into the agency office without my card, or just go home, get it, and come back. We decide to go back.

"And I parked the car so well," she laments, sighing dramatically. I smile.

"I'll put it on my webpage. 'My mother does a great parallel park'."

She laughs half-disbelievingly.

Hey world - my mother does a great parallel park.