I was a girl on a mission. We had plenty of all the blizzard essentials - batteries, bottled water, salt, kitty litter, chocolate...with one exception. Since the last ice storm we have been down to only two working snow shovels. Four family members, two shovels, you do the math. Don't for a moment think I would be the person inside watching TV bemoaning my lack of a snow-removal implement...and the storm that crippled the south was headed our way.
After being laughed at by clerks at four local establishments, I finally found one lone plastic shovel hidden in the far corner of an auto parts store. Triumphantly waltzing it to the checkout, I encountered a burly-looking, heavily-tattooed guy at least twice my size. "Hey!" he exclaimed, planting himself directly in front of me, "Where'd you find that?"
I am not proud of this, but I knew if it came to a struggle for the shovel I'd have no chance. Mutely I pointed him to the back corner, then dashed up front, threw some cash on the counter and escaped to my car before he could discover my deception. Victory was mine!
That evening, with twelve of the expected twenty inches already on the ground, my husband came home from work. Frowning, he asked (in his "criticism-cleverly-disguised-as-a-question" voice), "What made you decide to get another shovel?"
Oh, I don't know, maybe these blasted seven-foot high mounds of white stuff and another major storm forecast for the weekend and the fact that our driveway is a million miles long and I don't want to have to clear it with a spatula...("screaming-cleverly-disguised-as-screaming" voice)
My back was in spasms, my fingers were blue and I had frozen ice chunks in my hair, but going inside was a distant future because the goats had gotten into the garage, leaving an Armageddon of poop everywhere, knocking over two water buckets and a trash can as well as breaking the sensor for the garage door opener. Elliot's shirt was soaking wet and their hay rack was empty. I would have called the girls to help, but they were still trying to dig out the mailbox, which had completely disappeared after the latest snowplow drive-by. Trading my shovel for a broom, I silently asked myself the question nobody else ever does...("insanity-cleverly-disguised-as-my-life" voice) What, what, what ever made me decide to get goats?
No comments:
Post a Comment