They say there’s a first time for everything. Problem is, some firsts aren’t things we ever want to experience again.
Witness what happened to me over the weekend:
I was driving my dear mom out to dinner on Friday night and made a brief stop at our post office to pick up mail from two of my clients.
On the way out, I got behind a woman who was sashaying slowly; rather than race ahead of her (which I kind of wanted to do!), I slowed, too.
For the sake of clarity, we’ll call her Fat Chick.
Now I know that sounds mean, but I have my reasons. First off, she was.
Large, I mean.
She was dressed in a low-cut tank top, short-shorts, and flip-flops, and she had her fair share of tattoos. (This is important, trust me!)
Imagine my surprise when Fat Chick ambles right to MY car, takes hold of the handle, and opens the door!
Before she could get in, I holler, “Excuse me, but that’s my car!”
She looks at me with some bewilderment, gives me a mostly toothless grin, says she thought it was her car, and apologizes, before moseying to the car parked in front of mine.
Now, here’s one thing you need to know — her car looked NOTHING like mine! Different make, different size, different color, and mine had Mom seated in the passenger area.
Here’s another thing you need to know — I had on Capris, a Polo shirt, a windbreaker, and sneakers. No visible fat. No tattoos. All my teeth, thank you very much!
So when I got in, I asked Mom what she thought about Fat Chick trying to take my place. Do you know what she said?
“I thought it was you!”