I’m A Parallel Parking Spot, And I Love Playing Hard To Get
Hey big boy, are your hazard lights on, or are you just happy to see me?
Oh hey there, hot stuff. You thought you may have just had the ride of your life, but you ain’t seen nothing yet. Heck, you may have very well had another woman’s voice just guide you to me. Just when you thought your destination was going to have a large parking lot, Google said nuh uh uh, you got to park on the street. I’ve been on your mind for hours pal, and I get it, I’m feared as much as I’m loved. You think you’re going places, bad boy? Think again, I’m a parallel parking spot and I love playing hard to get.
You’re in a tight spot, so let me help you out and give you a little bit of info about me. I’ve been living in the city since the days of horse and buggies, and in those times, buggies kept tipping over causing the horses to break their legs trying to land a broad like me. But fella, I’ve been around the block. I’ve been beat up, potholed, filled up, potholed again. Parking meters (my affluent neighbors) were installed, broken, and I saw things I didn’t even know you could do to a parking meter. But one thing has stayed the same: drivers who think they can get with me just embarrass themselves by bumping into cars, circling the block for hours trying not to notice me, or just giving up and going home. But hey, only the real drivers with the right accessories can really land me, if you know what I mean.
I’ll let you in on a little secret though: I do have some turn-ons that make this little ass of mine go wild. It’s not about the make and model of the car, it’s all about the confidence. I need a driver who sees me and knows he can nail me on the first try. Somebody that doesn’t need a backseat camera. Plus, I want a driver who can not only park in me, but someone who can afford me! I’m tired of broke ass guys who like to park it and quit it without paying a dime. If you can’t pay for someone like me, keep driving buddy, and look for those loose and wide gals around the corner, they would love to have you!
You’re not my first admirer of the evening, either. Didn’t you see all my other suitors try and fail to come on to me? They tried to back in, and go in front-first. They tried manually, and even tried to use their wingman, that embarrassing parallel park technology strap-on their cars come equipped with. Some of them even circled the block a few times, sauntering by me once more after getting a drink and hyping themselves up to try and make my acquaintance. A few of them got loud and angry with me for “leading them on,” and that’s no way to treat a lady such as myself. Did seeing all of those other drivers try and fail inblazen your masculinity, and now you, too, are trying to conquer me?
Well, big boy, guess again. You know what they say about drivers with small penises. They have big cars. So for you to come cruising over to me, cat calling to me out the window saying, “Gina, I think I finally found a fucking spot!” and trying to weasel your way in with that big Chevy Silverado…oh, honey, you’re in way over your bumper. My ex-husband once told me I was the biggest tease on this side of the block. I sure look big enough when you’re coming around the corner, but once you try to reverse and back it in, I’m uninterested. Everyone knows that while it’s how you use it, size also matters, and if you even tried to talk and get to know me first, you’ll learn that I’m more into Honda Fit, environmental poetry types.
I hate to send you packing, but I just don’t feel a connection here…I hope you understand. I’ve seen your type before and you just don’t seem to have the spatial awareness and fine motor skills to whip it in like I like it. Luckily for me, I’ve got a long line of other suitors honking and yelling expletives at you because you’re holding up traffic trying to get in with me. If you happen to see a Honda Fit on your way out, send him my way. Bye, big guy.
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