I got stuck in my driveway today because of the stupid snow. And like most problems, this started with a penis.
Yes, a penis. My sister came over to my house today to pick something up while I was at work. She called on her way out to report that someone had drawn a penis on the snow pile in my front yard and labeled it with what we think is the word “kinky.” This makes me totally paranoid and now I am thinking we need to get better blinds, because really, how do they know?! Are they warning us? Can they see in?
Anyways, I digress. Youths my husband says. No hidden meanings involved. Just some bored pre-teens who just discovered penises are actually pretty easy to draw and have had way too many snow days to wreak havoc on the neighborhood.
So, instead of gunning it into the driveway going around 80, I meandered in, while mostly craning my neck to see this glorious artwork in my front yard. Completely forgetting the snow plow comes through also going 80 and doesn’t give a crap about my little minivan having to careen over the mini-mountain (a molehill if you will) just to get in my un-shoveled driveway and hope to heck my back end stops fishtailing in time to thread the needle, which is a good way to describe how my car fits into our tiny garage. Because, oh yes, I will get it in the garage. I don’t care if the kids can’t get out of the car or I hit the bikes every single time I pull in, I WILL NOT go outside in the winter. EVER. Garage to garage is how I roll. If I don’t go outside once from December to March, I’d be a happy hermit.
So, I get really really stuck. It’s just me and the kids as usual (much like the horror show of the squirrel escapade) and I am trying to figure out how to teach Bear how to gas it and brake while I push, when thankfully my neighbor comes over. By then I had shoveled a little bit. And by little, I mean shove the thing around a few times, take a breather and try to figure out how on earth I can speed this up and make it simpler. All while huffing around and whining to myself. I would try to snow blow it, but the thing is so persnickety, you literally have to blow it to get it started. Seriously. Mark says I have to put something in the broken pumpy-get-it-started-thingy (actual term) and BLOW. Mkay. So no, I am not blowing the snow blower thank you very much. I mean, what’s it ever done for me?
I threw piles of salt around the wheels and the super awesome neighbor helped me shove it back into the street, where I promptly pulled into my next-door neighbors driveway, only to get it stuck there (It’s OK, his was shoveled, so with enough revving, it came loose pretty easy). Hey, at least I had my driveway open right?
So, boring finish. Even my big strong MAN neighbor couldn’t get the snow blower started, but this was mainly because there was no way I was going to explain how he had to put his lips together and blow to get it to work. So I just said thank you so much, but forget it, I’ll just do it my way, which is wait until Thursday when it’s going to hit 50 degrees and let it melt. Until then, if you see me going 90 down my street, just get out of the way, I am preparing for my dismount.
Can’t wait for spring.