If a yoga studio can’t get you out of your car…

Maybe this will:

Last night I took my dad, known to his disrespectful children and their friends as ‘Romie (short for Jerome), out to dinner. We were celebrating his 67th birthday (albeit two weeks late), so I took him to my favorite restaurant, which, coincidentally, is owned by the very same Donna who is responsible for introducing me to 8 Limbs.

Because it was a “date,” ‘Romie insisted on driving, and because the restaurant was in Belltown, there was no street parking. We finally settled on a lot on 1st, between Bell and Battery. The lot didn’t have hourly parking, so everyone was charged the same, flat, “barhopper” rate. Any guesses on how much we paid to park for an hour and a half, on a Thursday?

Give up? Twelve dollars. Twelve!

That’s eight peak-hour bus rides, not including transfers.

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