The Great Cat and Mouse Game

Anyone who works in downtown Fayetteville must know the great cat and mouse game that we all play with the city parking management employees, or as I like to call them, “The Male Meter Maids.” Like Jerry trying to get to the cheese before Tom can trap him, we all attempt to put as little money as possible in each parking meter. Too often we’ve all lost money to malfunctioning machines or have been but a minute or two late and have found that irritating little, light green envelope expertly placed between our windshield and our driver’s side wiper.

It has become increasingly apparent that those who give the tickets enjoy playing the feline part in this game, so much so that a coworker was actually told, “I’ll get you next time!” when he managed to pull out of his spot just before a ticket was issued. We’ve all done it, and there’s a certain exhilaration that comes from beating the guys in the blue t-shirts before they get us. I personally have almost run over a male meter maid who was trying to get my tag number down before I could leave, even though I still had a minute left on the meter.

I think my greatest triumph over the male meter maids had to have not had anything to do with my own car though. I was walking back into the office after lunch when I noticed what had to be one of our vehicles in the process of getting a ticket. The red light on the meter was blinking and the aptly ugly city Honda Element was parked behind it. A male meter maid was banging his hand-held ticket machine against his leg. It was apparently jammed. So, I took that moment to grab a quarter out of my purse and slammed it into the meter, foiling the issuance of the ticket.

I felt somewhat like how Wellington must have felt after Waterloo. OK, maybe that’s taking it a bit far, but to quote Gilbert Blythe in Rilia of Ingleside, “by George, Anne-girl, it was satisfying.”

Valentine’s Day: “I don’t need sunburts and marble halls…”

    When I was in school:  grade school, junior high, high school, and even college I looked forward to Valentine's Day with those naive, romantic sensibilities that can only come from a  young girl who has yet to experience true love.  Always I hoped for something, anything: a card, roses, a teddy bear, or candies from a secret admirer.  I think that I was in love with the idea of being swept away in love, like, lust – whatever "L" word you want to give it.

     The funny things is that now that I am in a real, committed, happy marriage, I could care less about Valentine's Day.  It's just another day; an excuse to sell candy, card, jewelry, and whatever else you can slap some red or pink paint on.  Neither of us need it.  Probably because everyday is Valentine's Day to us.  We don't need a special day to say that we love each other.  We don't need gifts either.  I know Bart loves me, and he knows that I love him.  Honestly I would rather save the money and get Bart a better gift for his birthday, which is a week and a day after Valentine's Day.

    This may sound dismal and utterly unromantic, but I guess that though romance is never bad, forcing it on Valentine's Day seems wholly unromantic.  Roses die, candies are either eaten or spoil, and jewelry is far too extravagant for a Hallmark Holiday.  Personally the perfect Valentine's Day is one where I don't have to cook and can curl up on the couch with Bart and Lucy.  My wooing days are done for the most part, and I couldn't be happier.  It makes me think of the end of "Anne of the Island" where Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe finally become engaged.  Anne tells Gilbert, "
"I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU…"

Valentine’s Day: "I don’t need sunburts and marble halls…"

    When I was in school:  grade school, junior high, high school, and even college I looked forward to Valentine's Day with those naive, romantic sensibilities that can only come from a  young girl who has yet to experience true love.  Always I hoped for something, anything: a card, roses, a teddy bear, or candies from a secret admirer.  I think that I was in love with the idea of being swept away in love, like, lust – whatever "L" word you want to give it.

     The funny things is that now that I am in a real, committed, happy marriage, I could care less about Valentine's Day.  It's just another day; an excuse to sell candy, card, jewelry, and whatever else you can slap some red or pink paint on.  Neither of us need it.  Probably because everyday is Valentine's Day to us.  We don't need a special day to say that we love each other.  We don't need gifts either.  I know Bart loves me, and he knows that I love him.  Honestly I would rather save the money and get Bart a better gift for his birthday, which is a week and a day after Valentine's Day.

    This may sound dismal and utterly unromantic, but I guess that though romance is never bad, forcing it on Valentine's Day seems wholly unromantic.  Roses die, candies are either eaten or spoil, and jewelry is far too extravagant for a Hallmark Holiday.  Personally the perfect Valentine's Day is one where I don't have to cook and can curl up on the couch with Bart and Lucy.  My wooing days are done for the most part, and I couldn't be happier.  It makes me think of the end of "Anne of the Island" where Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe finally become engaged.  Anne tells Gilbert, "
"I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU…"