I could just imagine the conversations going on in our neighbors’ homes every time we pulled into our garage.
“Oh yeah? I bet six times and 30 minutes.”
“Nah, it’s not that late and they are laughing. Six times but one hour.”
Our neighbors were trying to guess how many tries it would take John to park. And how long we would stay in the car. Because after John parks we usually sat there. In the dark. Talking. Sometimes for an hour. I don’t even remember what we talked about. My marriage was a 22-year conversation, interrupted.