My husband and I had been circling the narrow cobblestone streets of a small village in Spain for 15 minutes looking for parking, with no success. Every spot was either “no parking” or “no standing” or some other restriction we couldn’t make out because the signs were in Spanish and the only two words we knew in Spanish were parking and standing.

Finally, we spotted something that looked like a parking spot.

“Take it!” I barked. “I think it’s the last parking spot on the planet.”

“Are we allowed?” he wondered. “There are no parking signs.”

“Well the other cars are here, so it must be okay,” I replied, making up my own rules.

We gratefully got out of the car and had only taken a few steps when I noticed a sign hidden behind a branch.

“Uh-oh, there is a sign.” I said.

“What does it say?”

I typed it into my smartphone. “Um. It says ‘no walking.’”

“No WALKING?”

“Yup.”

“So we can drive and we can park, but we can’t walk?” he said.

“Apparently.”

“What does that even mean?” he wondered, looking around to see if anyone else was walking.

“I have no idea,” I replied. I had never heard of a “no walking” zone. There wasn’t any construction or road repairs or anything else that looked like it would have been hazardous for us to walk through. The street looked identical to every other street we’d been on. It made no sense.

My husband stared at the sign and thought for a minute.

“So, we’re not allowed to walk,” my husband said. “But do you think it’s okay to meander?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” I replied.

“How about sashay? Can I sashay.”

“If you can’t walk, I doubt you can sashay,” I said.

“Can I galavant?”

I shook my head. “I would think there is definitely no galavanting allowed. But perhaps you could traipse.”

“I don’t traipse very well,” he replied. “But I can mosey.”

“I don’t think they mosey in Spain,” I said.

The two of us stood there befuddled. If we turned around and walked back to the car, we would be breaking the law. I wondered if maybe we could hop to the car. Or maybe my husband could hoist me up and toss me to the car and then I could drive back and pick him up. The whole thing was a big conundrum and gave me a renewed appreciation for all the idiotic parking signs we had at home.

Suddenly I noticed a movement on the other side the street.

“Look,” I shouted, pointing across the street. “There’s a dog walking. How come he can walk and we can’t?”

My husband shrugged. “He can’t read the sign.”

— For more Lost in Suburbia, follow Tracy on Facebook at facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage or on Twitter at @TracyBeckerman.