Yes, you read that right. Me. When (if) I tell me kids, they'll never believe it.

I had just left work. I was exhausted, my legs were buzzing, my ankle was swollen like a sausage, and it looked like a long way home pushing my brand new rollator (Speed Buggy).

Bob and I crossed the street to pick up a jug of milk at the country store. Here was a station wagon parked right smack across the ramp that is the entrance to the store. There was about 18" of space if you went around the back of the car, and going around the front there was just enough room to juggle and wiggle the walker around to get onto the ramp.

The hatch was open, so I figured, "Well, somebody quickly grabbing a sack of feed or something, no biggie." But when I got in the store, it was a YOUNG guy, a salesman or something. He couldn't help but see I was pushing a piece of durable medical equipment, for pete's sake, but he never apologized or even acknowledged that I had to maneuver around his stupid car.

When we were leaving, he was still parked there, and I had to jostle my buggy around his car again.

Now, I could have stepped off the other end of the porch, or even picked up my buggy. But my daughter-in-law, who is in a wheelchair, couldn't have. Nor could my late sister-in-law, who had muscular dystrophy.

I don't know what came over me, but just as I was squeezing past the front of his car, I kind of slugged his fender with the side of my fist. CLONK! I thought my husband was going to have a stroke. I felt a lot better afterward, and I hope he saw me. So there.