Parallel Parking in Brooklyn!

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I hardly ever take our car and drive here in Brooklyn. No need to! There are subways that take me anywhere I want to go. The f---ing F, as we call it, is just around the corner. So, it is mostly my husband who takes it when he has to see clients outside the city or when he has a major installation for work. He also takes it on the week-end to take Master Teen, our 15-year old moody teen, to soccer every week-end. I try to stay out of that soccer thing. My feeling is that I am dealing with school stuff, piano, S.A.T. prep and all the other things you deal with when you have school-aged kids.
This Sunday though, husband could not take son. There are no convenient trains to the Parade Grounds at Prospect Park where the games take place. So reluctantly, I drove the car. It is not so much the driving that freaks me out. Granted, New York drivers are agressive beyond reason, but it is the parallel parking manoeuvre when you reach your destination that cause my palms to sweat. So it was with quite a bit of prepidation that I set off on my way on Sunday with son in tow. I had allowed enough time to reach my destination. However, one lap around the parade ground confirmed my worst fears: no parking in sight. The few small spots available were barely big enough to fit a Mini Cooper or a Smart car, which by the way would be my car of choice here in the city. Not that we are driving a Hummer or a Suburban. No, our car is a plain and simple Volvo station wagon. But if you are not used to driving, let me tell you, it feels as though you are dragging a tank around. I let out my son so that he could join his team on time. I drove round and round, figuring that I would have to wait in a bus stop or in front of a water hydrant till the end of son's soccer match. In a last ditch effort, I went down one of the side streets. Argyle Road was good to me. Very good. Behind s dumpster, I spyed a spot big enough for three cars. That was just the size spot I needed. On my second attempt, without anyone waiting behind me, I suavely guided the car into the spot, moved forward and parked. Job well done. The vehicle was perfectly parallel to the curb. I felt good. No, I felt great.
I think even moody teen was impressed as I walked nonchalantly to the game field. Ah, everything was fine with the world.
And then I started worrying about finding a big enough spot to parallel park into on our street on the way back...
That is the trouble with feeling victorious. The feeling never lasts long.