Deborah Lipp

Irony alert: Last week when picking Arthur up at dance on Monday, the traffic in the studio parking lot was terrifying. It took me several minutes to be able to safely back out of my spot. When picking him up at his second class on Friday, I noted that being five minutes late was a real advantage; all the “drop-off” parents are gone, only “pick-up” parents are there, so the traffic is cut in half. I told him from now on, expect me to be five or more minutes late.

Irony alert #2: I was very, very tired yesterday. So tired that, after dropping Arthur off at dance, I went to the mall and ended up driving right past it. Just spaced and kept going. So I told myself to drive extra carefully; I felt so tired that I was at risk of causing an accident. So I was kind of peeling my eyeballs to make sure I was being a good driver. I felt really shaky.

Ironic results: Last night, after finishing up at the mall and the supermarket, I was miraculously still a few minutes early for picking Arthur up at dance. So I parked in the very same spot I was in last Monday and waited. And after Arthur got in the car (about five minutes late), while I was still parked, I got hit.

Crunch.

Big ol’ van trying to maneuver in the crowded parking lot, watching the moving cars and the kids walking around and not even looking at the car parked right next to him. A little too right next to him.

Crunch.

So. Fucking A.