> as a house guest, the best place to hide a bar of chocolate is not on top of my unattended, ringing alarm clock.
> it is now the time to stock up on your matzo meal.
> that even an ironic “thumbs-up”, when given with “that look” and an unfortunate mock-grandiosity will ruin my “parkma”, otherwise known as blowing my chance at the “Cooper Spot”*
* “Cooper Spot”, noun. A parking spot that is both supremely convenient and effortlessly cool. Named for the originator of the Cooper Spot, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Cooper could roll up to the front of the Chinese Theater in his big boat of a car on a premier night and effortlessly get a parking spot right in front. Flawless parkma, that’s what he had. I knew him in his 90’s. He wore a suit, sometimes a 3-piece in my memory, and a fedora. He whistled, and always had a joke ready for the quick-draw. My mother used to go to Shriner’s events with him in her chinese silk gown. I wore a black Audrey Hepburn hat to his funeral, with black opera gloves and stockings under my black tea-length taffeta dress - because that’s what he would have liked. The man was one of a kind, but every now and them, if he’s smiling down on me, I get his parking spot.
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