Living in the northeast definitely has its challenges, especially when half your family lives in warmer weather locales. It’s always fun when you get four snowstorms in a row dump so much white stuff on your house that it looks like a giant S’more, and then your family calls you from the golf course to tell you about the lovely, sunny day they are having in their neck of the woods.
Of course, some of them have to put up with other occasional minor nuisances like earthquakes, mudslide, droughts, wildfires, and hurricanes, and the worst thing we have where I live is snow. So I try to keep that in mind when they call me poolside with a margarita in hand and the Beach Boys playing on the radio in the background.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Having grown up in the northeast, I really don’t mind the snow all that much, except for the shoveling part and the school closings and the occasional car getting stuck in a snowbank. And of course there are the routine power outages, and the frozen pipes, and frozen gutters. No, I’m OK with all of that, really. The part of it that I have a problem with is the ice.
I am usually pretty careful when it comes to the ice because I have seen better women than I hit a patch of black ice and end up with their arm in a sling. But this morning, I was in a rush to get my daughter to school and I ran out of the garage without thinking about the big ice patch in the driveway, right smack between me and the car.
Let’s just say, there is a reason I am not a professional hockey player or figure skater.
Now, sometimes when you slip, you feel yourself start to go and you can try to regain your balance, or at least grab something to lessen the impact when you fall.
This was not one of those times.
I went down so fast, I looked like I was one of the X-Men. I came down so hard, I think they could feel the earth move in the next town. The good news was, I didn’t hit my head or right now my blog would look like this: “caljdfo weutp wha cgnvl Nvmav!”
The bad news was, I hit my knee and put a gash in it the size of Texas, and banged it so hard it immediately blew up and looked like I had two knees on one leg.
This was bad, but it was not the worst part. The worst part was, I was wearing my favorite jeans, and I shredded them. Not in a cool, distressed kind of way, but in a, “I think I’m going to have to get out the scissors and turn these into jean shorts” kind of way.
So now I am sitting here with an icepack on my knee, cursing the ice, and mourning the loss of my favorite jeans.
And when I’m done with all that, I’m going to put The Beach Boys on the stereo and check out the real estate section of the Malibu Times.