Seven years. That's how long I've lived in Iowa. Seven winters under my belt with only 1 killed deer/car on my record. A few fishtail drives, but nothing even this Vegas girl couldn't correct. I've shoveled lots of snow. I've learned to balance (sort of) on slippery sidewalks. But today, I met my match.
After my sweet husband shoveled 13 inches of "heart attack snow" in several 90 minute shifts to dig our cars out, he told me to be sure to take the short side of our alley out this morning.
Sidebar: Clark received a Paw Patrol shovel from Aunt Tammy & Uncle Bob for his birthday last year. He has been talking for 11 months about getting to shovel snow with it. So while Daddy huffed and puffed and braved the elements, I inched our door open and let Clark "shovel" the deck from our warm kitchen. Ryan came in after(what we thought was) his final hour of shoveling, drenched in sweat and several layers of clothing, catching his breath, and very kindly made a HUGE deal about thanking Clark for shoveling the deck for him. Without missing a beat, our 2 year old patted his Dad's shoulder as he walked away, and nonchalantly said "Oh, you welcome, Daddy!'
I was up extra early thanks to insomnia, so I bit the bullet, got ready, and headed out to my car. That's where things got dicey.
I very carefully reversed straight behind me in order to avoid the snow bank. Reverse is not my strong gear, so I was very pleased with myself as I switched into drive and turned the wheel. Screeeeeeeeeech. Bumpbumpbump. Ice. And not just a patch - an entire alley COVERED in several inches of very thick, very frozen ice. While my winter driving experience is limited, I have had success reversing when I can't get traction in drive. I'm smart. I can do this. Back to reverse, back to a few feet of motion, bumpbumpbump. Now, instead of 2 wheels stuck on ice, I have managed to get all 4 wheels onto frozen solid water. At least I'm pretty.
By my third attempt, I realized I needed to call in the big guns. Lucky for me, the big guns had been watching from the door and was already headed my way in snow gear, armed with a bright yellow plastic shovel. While he may have been cursing me under his breath, he was very sweetly telling me I could stop apologizing three times per breath. Realizing much faster than I did (he is definitely the brains of this operation) that I was stuck on ice, not snow, he tossed the plastic shovel aside and started pushing the car and my heavy butt while I gunned the gas on the back swing and tried not to run him over on the down slide.
After several attempts, ice breaking, changing drivers, and a lot of screeching and burning tires, my knight in snow gear drove off onto a real road with me slowly skidding down the rest of the alley behind him. Shaken, I made it to my now toasty warm car, buckled up, and slowly drove off. That's the exact moment that I remembered my lunch was at home. Determined to not go back, I resolved to order extra at my daily Starbucks stop to get me through the day. Main roads seemed fine, but my nerves proved to be shot when I saw traces of frozen precipitation on the road to that beautiful double tailed mermaid. Turns out I love my life just a little bit more than my coffee.
Finally completing my 10 minute commute to work an hour after it began, I pulled into my parking spot and breathed a sigh of relief that I was in 1 piece. That audible noise was immediately accompanied by the loud growl of my empty stomach.
Deciding to quench my hunger with a cold Diet Dew, I took a crisp dollar bill out of my drawer and headed to our machine at work. Like always, it took my dollar, had me make my selection, sent the arm up to my requested number, and then I helplessly watched the machine stop in front of my deeply desired caffeine before flashing "sold out" across the tiny screen and returning my dollar in quarters. Two of which, the machine promptly ate while I was loading them to try a different number.
Fighting back tears for the third time today, I took a deep breath and retrieved the not-so-secret keys from their designated spot, opened the giant machine, took my pop, and closed and locked the machine. Still holding the 4 quarters like the frazzled, on-the-verge-of-crying thief that I am. Nope. Not today, Satan. 4 quarters and a post-it note explaining the issue to the designated staff member in charge of these things, caffeine in hand, I was ready to turn my day around.
Another loud hunger rumble. Hmmm, Diet Mountain Dew isn't that filling when it's the only thing you give your body 4 hours after waking up. Just then, an angel in disguise appeared with a very large piece of succulent, moist, golden, delicious cake. I devoured it faster than a feral momma cat who hadn't seen food in a week, much to the wide eyed horror of the sweet friend who shared. As I was taking my first breath since inhaling the yumminess, I asked "what was that divine syrup you used??" Her horror quickly turned to amusement as she said "Rum. It's a rum cake. I forgot you don't drink - I should have given you half of a piece."
Soooooo, there I was, drunk* at work. Not sure if that was an upgrade or downgrade to my day, but I seemed to care a lot less about living in this God forsaken skating rink after that. Either way, I can attest to 2 things: 1. That darn cake was AMAZING and I would have eaten it all had I not been afraid to call Ryan to tell him I was fired for being drunk at work... at 10am on a Tuesday...after he labored for an hour to get me there on time, and 2. that the 7 year itch IS a thing. At least when it comes to real winter. Anyone know of lucrative jobs on the beach? For Ryan, that is. I'll be home making my new favorite cake.
*I'm like 97% sure I wasn't drunk, but that might be the Rum talking.
No comments:
Post a Comment