Heh, heh! Not so fast! You're not out of Val's unfortunate cheese-cutting week just yet!
Thursday we were off again for another snow day, after being sent home early Wednesday. Let the record show that the roads were bad when The Pony and I came home Wednesday afternoon. When I pulled into the garage, I asked him to get the long arm of the ice scraper/brush favored by large SUV drivers in cold climes, and use it not to clear off the icy slush from around T-Hoe's windshield wipers, but to instead sweep the icy slush off my running board. That thing is treacherous in the winter. Slush blows up on there as I drive, and then freezes when I park. It's like you have to be Dorothy Hamill or Tonya Harding to get up in there the next day. But not Nancy Kerrigan, because a bum leg and that incessant whining will hinder your climb.
The roads were clear Wednesday night, according to The Pony. He said the lettered county highway and the numbered highway were completely clear. He and Hick made a trip to town to get something for my birthday. Uh huh. Ol' Val has made it another year! It wasn't so much what Hick and The Pony brought me as what they LEFT for me.
Imagine our surprise later Wednesday evening when I got the snow-day text! What a way to go out in a blaze of surprise days off and a lengthened school year!
Thursday morning dawned cold and bright. By 10:00 a.m., the sun had melted the snow from the yard. I decided to make a trip to town. Which is when I found out that Hick is the gift that keeps on giving.
Tra-la-la...Val nearly skipped to the garage, an unexpected day off ahead of her, footloose and fancy free. As I stepped my foot onto T-Hoe's running board, it slipped right back off! A couple inches of slush were clinging there, preventing my ascent. I scraped and scraped with my shoe sole. The long scraper/brush was in T-Hoe's rear, and a puddle of ice was waiting for my not-Hamill, not-Harding, not-even-Kerrigan feet to set foot on it. No sirree, Bob! Val was not falling for that one.
Once the running board was sufficiently tractioned, I stepped up and, with my usual into-the-seat motion, attempted to deposit my ample buttocks onto the cold, cold leather of T-Hoe's driver's seat.
My back was wrenched tighter than the Operation! guy's ankle! The seat was at the maximum forward position. Twiggy herself could not have squoze in there in a single motion. Hick had left the driver's seat on his setting. He gets in on my setting, and hits his, which pulls that seat forward until he can drive it with his belly. I'm surprise he doesn't wear a hole in his shirt when he makes a turn.
Out I went. Back down to the cold concrete floor of the garage. I pushed the "1" setting on the door control, and the seat went back to my position.
It really shouldn't be so hard to make a trip to town on your second-and-a-half snow day of the week.
Don't think you're getting out of here without a report on Friday's misfortune...