Well-Meaning

Maybe you've heard the expression, "well-meaning advice." But just between us, what does "well-meaning advice" mean, anyway? That you meant well when you regaled someone in need with  your lame advice? That you didn't realize how horribly your advice would misfire when you offered it up on a platter o' platitudes? When it comes to advice, well-meaning or unsolicited, is there any better guidance on the planet than, "This too shall pass"? Have truer words ever been spoken? Methinks nyet. Whatever the kaka situation you find yourself in, it's going to pass. When exactly? Who knows. That's why it's left out of the equation.

This is where I segue -- I live for segues -- to the well-meaning advice I doled out to the youngest son when he presented me with one of those problems in life that can only be solved by taking many steps, steps that most likely will take you in the direction of a concrete wall, so wear a helmet, just to be safe.

"Ma," he texted, "I got home and someone had parked in my spot."
"Oh @#$%!!!!" I texted back, followed by many angry-faced emojis. "Where did you park?"
"In the spot next to mine."
"Oy vey, honey. You need to find a spot on the street."
"Why, Ma?"
"Cuz that's not your @##$%'n spot and you're just doing to that guy what's been done to you."
"@#$$%!"

I waited for an update. What else have I got to do with my time? During his journey round the block 400 times to find a spot, a sense of calm, courtesy of all that meditation he's been doing, kicked in, and the solution arrived without benefit of his rapidly aging mother.
"Found a spot."
"Thank God."
"Left a note on the car in my spot."
"Smart."
"Left a message for the dumb-ass manager."
"There you go."
"Guess there's nothing else I can do but wait for him to get back to me."

"Well... there's one more thing you can do."
"What?"
"You can buzz every a-hole in the building and find out who parked in your spot, or let a friend park in your spot."
"I'm not doing that, Ma."
"Fine. I have to make dinner now," I texted back, a wee bit wounded by the rejection of what I still consider a brilliant solution.

Two hours later, another text. "The dumb-ass manager had given me the wrong spot."
"So you're no longer in the chai spot?"
"What?"
"You had 18. That's chai. For life."
"I'm in 36."
"Double chai. Even better."