my toenails are full of festival mud, my head holds the peace that comes from waking up in the bush and brushing my teeth while staring up at trees and sky. a weekend of finding my forest feet, floating down the river, heckling hippies from the chai tent.
i pull into the carpark to find a ute in my spot, but i can't find my post-it notes anywhere in the family wagon. probably best. i take a deep breath and summon an affirmation:
i'm not the crazy lady with many cats, bathing in a wheelbarrow out the back and striking young whippersnappers with her umbrella. not yet. i can handle this without infringing anyone's human rights. surely.
the ute has a mobile number on the back. i dial it, only a bit surly.
me: mr anglesea landscaping design co, i just got home from camping to find your ute in my spot etc.
father: oh that's my son. I'll call him now and get him out.
son: action. car moved.
being nice kinda helped. sometimes it's easier to go with the rapids instead of fighting the flow.
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