I woke up bright and early for my driving test, only had around 5 hours of sleep. We left early in case we couldn't find it. We had trouble, finally had to ask at a gas station, but we got to the Garden City Park test area at 10:40. There was no mistaking that we were in the right place; we were in back of a long line of cars, most with a kid and a parent. The line moved very slowly. I had driven there, but noticed that all the parents were driving, so Mommy and I switched seats while in line, though I'm pretty sure it was legal for me to drive.
A peppy guy checked my permit. He took my blue card after asking my age. He must have been there to help everyone to relax, because the inspectors were a gruesome bunch. All tall, fat, and Frankensteinish with mean looks. They get paid near nothing, Mommy said, but feel omnipotent so they stay at their jobs. Ours gave us a tight-lipped, forced smile and we had to get out of the car. He was curt with Mommy when she showed him her license and registration still inside her wallet, and made her take them out.
He told me to get into the car and I agilely went over the console. "Start the car," he said gruffly. I did, and remembered my signals pulling out at the last minute. We soon made a series of turns and then turned from a fairly busy narrow street into a tiny one. I was told to stop in back of an old black car and do my 3-pt. turn. It was fine and now I had to "pull over" - I started to go behind a car sitting on the other side of the street "...beside that car." "Oh, the park," I muttered. I saw I would not make it the first time and my heart sank as I angled out to try again. I was ecstatic when I made it; often I can't correct the park if the first try goes wrong. Coming back, I think I might have failed to yield the right of way going past a waiting stopped car. So it could have gone either way. He seemed to be writing an awful lot, unless that is a trick. [I didn't pass]
Mommy hadn't seen me come back and I had to call to her from across the street. She didn't have her license and registration back and asked the inspector, who rudely said he TOLD the young lady he was leaving it in the car (he DIDN'T, but it was stuck in front near the radio).
We went to Ohrbach's next. We trudged through the excellent selection of coats, but nothing was good. The suede things were very nice, but none fit. Two salesladies helped us and both gave up. They had maxi-coats there - we were surprised when the lady told us people were actually buying them.
Then we went to the dress section. They must have run crazy in size because 11's were tremendous and I even tried on some 7's (small, of course). I got 3 dresses, which for me is quite a haul. In the stalls-with-no-doors dressing room, a girl near us sounded just like me; she was arguing with her mother that 9's were NOT swimming on her. I protested over trying on a knit brown dress with orange and brown striped sleeves AGAIN (we tried it in different sizes) because I was TIRED of it already. [It's still in my closet.] Shopping is such an ordeal.
We went to Nana's for a diet Rosh Hashonah dinner of capon. The vanilla pudding was good again, and Nana confessed to mixing in an egg yolk. Nana admitted she wasn't crazy for going to Florida, but Papa wanted it so. A lot of their friends are down there, at least. Papa proudly showed us his colorful new clothes.