Early last week, the wife and I promised to take our four-years-old daughter to see the new Disney merchandising vehicle, Chicken Little. By Sunday, as we approached the appointed hour for our excursion, she had whipped herself into a frenzy. To make matters even less bearable for her, we'd elected to see the special 3-D version of the film, which was showing in a multiplex two dozen miles away.
At long last we arrived at the shopping center wherein is located the giant candy store which happens to show movies. Sundays at mid-day, the shopping center is packed to the gills with shoppers, movie-goers, brunch-inhalers, and their compatriots in consumerism. This being California, it goes without saying that none of these people walked to the shops or arrived by public transportation.
After a slow ride up a packed parking lot row, our daughter was on her last nerve. After a slow ride down another packed parking lot row, she had chewed through her seat belt. Midway up the third packed row, the wife and I heard an anguished cry from the back seat:
"OH, CRAP! THERE ARE NO EMPTY SPACES!"
And now this precious moment is available for proud digital age grandparents to forward to all.
Why did the chicken cross the road? Because a child's fury can turn him into KFC at twenty paces.