Something you’re certainly interested in.

“You move your car,” she says, moving her hands so they are over each of your shoulders, leaving you trapped between her and the wall, “and I’ll offer you… your Destiny.”

You cough a few times, mostly out of nervousness caused by the situation.

“Well, Ms. Dixon,…” you start.

“DESTINY!!” she corrects you.

“Ms. Dixon,” you insist right back, the gentleman in you still reacting to someone you’ve only just met, “I don’t know what you do for a living, but I’m doubting you’re a psychic or anything like that. Even if that’s what the sign says over the phone number on your ad, I don’t believe in them, so I’m not going to accept that offer!”

You then duck under one of her arms, sneaking around behind her near the center of the room.

“Well,” she replies, turning to face you again. “I’m curious how you don’t know what I do, and yet still know there was a phone number on my TV ad!! Regardless, I’m not offering to predict your future!!”

“Oh!” you tell her. “I’m sorry. What offer were you making?!”

“I was offering you…,” she says. “…Your Destiny. Which, you apparently didn’t notice, is my name! Meaning if you let me continue to park my car in that spot, I will see to it that you get to decide where I park MYSELF the majority of the time. Or rather… Where YOU park yourself IN me.”