We had umpteen inches of snow last night. The world looks pretty and white, like the Republican Party Christmas cards. I actually had a hard time opening the front door this morning, because the porch was covered with white fluff. It sieved through the full-length screen (which I haven’t exchanged for the glass panel’ the shame!) like potato through a ricer. I bounded over the eight inches of snow, which is just enough snow to go above your socks up into your pant leg, which I’m certain sends the follicles scurrying to grow a protective layer of stubble.
I have fingerless gloves because I can’t stand not being able to maneuver my car keys. Growing up with a love of bad slasher movies has twisted my perception on reality and I am certain that if I impair my hands in any way, the uncertain shuffling sound of my keys will immediately call to me the specters of Jason, Michael, Freddie and Leatherface, who will then Battle Royale to see who gets to eviscerate me.
Fingerless gloves are lousy for knocking eight inches of snow off your car. Snow went up my coat sleeves and then somehow got into my bra. I’m not entirely certain how that happened, since I’m wearing a turtleneck today, but there it is. I was dancing and shimmying around like a seductive stripper girl, trying to knock the snow out of my bra. If only I had made a Snow Penis in our front yard, I could have sauntered up to it and did lascivious things to it for the viewing enjoyment of my axe-wielding wood chopping neighbor who was shoveling his driveway.
I wonder what those women who wear those water-filled pushup bras do if they’re out in the cold. Would their hooters freeze? That would have to be really uncomfortable.
I tried ineffectively brushing most of the snow off my car but my fingers started to feel numb, so I jumped into the car to warm up. The garage door opened, and out popped Esteban, fully decked out in his winter coat (which the cats have been sleeping in for the last three months), face mask, and rabbit fur-lined ear-flapped hat which I bought him two Christmas’ ago as a joke. I laughed. He said ‘What?’ only it sounded like ‘Muck?’ because he was swathed in fleece and Thinsulate. I could only respond with uproarious laughter.
He then cleaned off my car for me and deiced the windows, which I shivered inside my car.
I love my Burgermeister. He’s so great.
Finally, I plowed out of the driveway onto our unplowed street. I had to gun it to make it through the snow berm created by the snow ploughs at the intersection of the busier street, but I made it with my cool new tires. Esteban was busy getting the snow blower started; where I’m certain that he will plough our driveway and sidewalks and then move onto our neighbors’. He’s a wonderful guy that way. I’d be like ‘Take $1000 and buy your own snow blower, suckas!’ but that’s just me.
Then, as I was slowly making my way to work, watching the people who somehow forget that they’ve lived in Wisconsin their entire lives and no longer know how to drive in heavy snow, I saw an early 90’s model Ford Escort with a big back window sticker which stated ‘Bad Ass Girls drive Bad Ass Toys’. She slid out and did a U into oncoming traffic, getting stuck in a snow bank.
Calling a Ford Escort a ‘Bad Ass Toy’ does not make it so. You’ve got to believe that’s just Bumper Sticker Karma. I also firmly believe that the people with the Calvin Peeing stickers will spend eternity being urinated upon by a giant cherubic young lad sporting a stuffed tiger.
