The Slug

If I hadn’t offered to park the car, I’d never have turned into a slug. Picture the scene, four women, one white BMW – that ridiculous NCR car park in Manchester. The one with the car trap walls, looming with the promise of lost no claims bonuses. Presentation, t-minus 30 minutes. Not a single space left, that wasn’t snug to those waiting brick teeth. After the fourth attempt to park my innards were twitching, limbering up for the heel sprint to our destination. “I can park!” I cried with desperation, sinking into the sleek leathery embrace of the driver’s seat. Readers.. It was like silk, silk on silk, beauty in motion as I slipped the beast into the space. Perfection! Until I turned, horror dawning as I spied the 3 inch gap between car and wall.

I am not a slender women, nor an agile one.

The backseat beckoned… and I became a slug.

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