I arrived home late from work, and it was raining. Marc’s car was already parked by our neighbors so I called from the street to find out if I should park behind him or if I was safe to use our own driveway.
“No, park behind me,” he instructed.
I did. As soon as I shut of my engine, Marc appeared outside. He looked at the cars. “Why’d you park so close to me?” he asked. “You are actually right on top of my bumper.”
“So I could clear the driveway. Why? Does it matter?”
“Well, yes, it does. There is no walkway now.” He then moved his hands from behind his back, showing me his oven mitts he and gesturing with them towards the parked cars and exclaimed “I am cooking here!”