There are more days than not when I need to call upon my disabled placard for big shopping center parking lots; I like to walk when I can. The number of dirty glances towards me is beyond now what I have fingers and toes on which to count. My invisible disease earns them, I suppose. I am no stranger, I mean to say, to disability being an unknown to the eye. But no one also hates it more than when someone uses a handicapped spot for "just running in," or worse, for a leisurely trip up and down the aisles of a Wal-Mart (yes, I'm talking to you, Wal-Mart).
For Christmas, he made these cards for me as a gift. Who has time to find a pen and paper in the rush to leave an angry note before being caught?