We're at an impasse.
It looks just like a 3-way stop.
"He could go straight...Or he might turn right..." I'm trying to figure out what this old fella is going to do.
One-one thousand, two-one thousand...
I wish I was a mind reader (for about the ten millionth time). "What are you doing?" I ask out loud.
"Just go, Mom," my 14 year old directs from the passenger seat. I want to roll my eyes, but dig deep for some self-control.
"A blinker would be nice...," I'm thinking right out of my mouth now, (eight-one thousand) "...please drive, sir..." ten-one thousand, eleven-one thousand.
The clouds are drifting at a snail's pace, but faster than we are traveling right now. People are crossing a ways in front of us. Sam's is a busy place on this Saturday afternoon...twelve one-thousand, thirteen one-thousand.
"Mom. I. Am. Starv-" he must think he needs to intervene here.
"He's turning, he's turning!" I interrupt.
My right foot lifts off the break as we start to turn right down the parking lot aisle. We coast pass the cart return and turn right into a spot.
Time to get some shopping done!