- Ice -

For those of you who haven’t heard, I’m not a big fan of ‘ice’. I told HG that I needed a can of de-icer. He laughed and so did the others around us in the aisle at Wal-mart. However, to appease me, he bought a can.

The first icing event, I put on my cute snow boots, went out to my car and proceeded to ‘de-ice’ the windshield. Now would be a good time to mention that I did not anticipate the time necessary to ‘de-ice’ a vehicle. An HOUR later, and an entire can of de-icer gone, my windshield wipers were still inoperable. So, I did what any southern girl with little patience would do, I took my pretty purple ice scraper and began beating the wipers, as if to punish them for causing me so much frustration.

Frustrated, I came back inside and call my husband. He patiently proceeded to tell me to possibly try warm water. After speaking with him, I considered this, but it would involve time on my part and I was short on time.

I proceeded to beat my wipers until they gave up the ice. I’m sure the neighbors, who I’ve yet to meet, probably call me the crazy lady next door. Once the wipers were free, I began my journey over two different interstates to reach the gym…

After several days of ice, I forgot about the thin sheet of the dangerous lurking enemy in front of our front door. Upon my return from the gym, I was distracted by a note on our door and didn’t watch my step. One foot made it on the ice, my gym bag and purse flung into the air as my rear and left knee made contact with the ice. Needless to say, bloody, cold and wet from the ice underneath me, I’m not a big fan of ice…

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