Picture Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders, and welcome to another round of Picture Sunday.

You know, let's talk about signs. Not signs of the apocalypse, or signs of the times, just your everyday signs. I saw a sign today for the first time, naive soul that I am.

You see, when we're in parking lots all around this great land of ours, we see signs like this all the time.

























Yep, they're everywhere, and they're fine. Those people need their special parking spots, and I'm not going to argue with them. I might argue that about 40% of the people who have a permit to park in those special places don't actually need to have one, but hey, I live in Southwestern Virginia. That's par for the course. Not a thing I can do about it, and that's OK. I don't mind walking.

And then I'm sure we've seen the stores that have these little babies strategically placed in their parking lots.

























No problem with those, either. The employees of the month might have a little problem with them, though, I know I would. I'd much rather get a check for $25 for being the employee of the month and walk a little farther, but that's just me. I guess there's a certain prestige with pulling into the best spot in the lot and getting out, all, "Look at meeeee, you bastards! I'm the employee of the month!" So kudos to you good employees, and enjoy the primo spot.

But today, as I was ducking in (I mean, really, I was ducking) to the B'burg Wal-Mart to get the flavor of protein bars they refuse to stock at my local store, I happened upon this little nugget of a sign.

























Now. Now, this one, I have a little problem with. There's so much wrong with this sign. How expectant do you have to be? 3 weeks? If you leave the doctor's office after finding out you're with child, or have just left home after peeing blue on the home pregnancy kit, do you get to park here? Is there some sort of Parking Police to check you out? Proof? Do you have to have a little stomach blip of baby, is it only for second and third trimester moms? And expectant? What if you're expecting to have a baby before you shuffle off this mortal coil? "Yes, I'm an expectant mother. Sure, I'm only 16 now, but I'm hoping for a girl and a boy, Kaitlyn and Jeremiah. And a nice husband and a two-story Cape Cod. And I want to be a homemaker, mother, lawyer, model, and movie star." (They think like that nowadays.)

And while we're at it, why, just because you're carrying 8 or 9 extra pounds around, do you get special treatment in the Wal-Mart parking lot? What about those of us carrying more than that around, with no hopes of spitting out an infant, possibly on aisle 5 as we're shopping for dill pickles? Don't we deserve a little love from Wal-Mart, too? Where's the sign that says, "Park Here, You Big Fat Fatty Fat Fat?"

Oh, well. Like I said, I can walk. Best not to think about it too much. I guess the plus side of it all is that once you've dropped your baby in aisle 5 of the Wal-Mart, you can wrap it up in bunting (from the fabric department) and head over to Goody's.

























At least they're nice enough to let you keep parking there after you've unloaded your little monster onto the world. Wonder what they consider "new," though. I guess you still have to be wheeling it around in a carriage. What if you just this past week adopted a 16-year old? (By the way, look at how tall that sign is! Right over my head, that one.)

I want to see signs with a smoking cigarette on them. Surely smokers need a short walk to the store. Or a recliner, for the more lazy amongst us. Hey, if you have the nerve to park in the "lazy" spot, you deserve it. Our local hospital has a sign that says, "For Clergy Only." Wonder if the preacher cusses when someone's taken his spot. Someone who just likes to talk about the The Lord. He's justified, isn't he? I bought my brother-in-law a ministership from the back of a magazine for Christmas one year. He never has to worry about a parking spot at the hospital!

OK, enough of this gay banter. Time for the recipe du jour. Had some ideas rolling around, but since I was taken out for a late birthday dinner this evening, they all went by the wayside. And this popped up instead. From the "Lazy Nights" file in cardland, please say hello to Screw It, Let's Go Out.























Ahhh, my friends, the ease of this dish. All you do is pick the restaurant of your choice (or not, the nephew picked Outback and so it was to be), read a menu, point to an item, hand over some money, and you've got a dish right there in front of you, served by (in my case) none other than Norma Jean herself. For this card it's Mahi Mahi, mashed potatoes, and a sauce I couldn't tell you a thing about other than it's good. And a martini, extra olives. That was martini #2, extra olives. Because we all know the martini is the perfect drink. One's good, two's perfect, and three are too many. The self-regulating drink!

Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Finally finished those movies this weekend. Played clarinet fairly well. Got bitten to death by Alice the cat. Got taken to dinner at Famous Anthony's by Mr M. (You've never heard of Anthony? He's famous!)