It’s snowing. Again GODDAMMIT. I am so over the snow. We have had a lot this year and last year in March it was a record breaking 80 degrees for two days. Can I have that plan again? I’d like March 2012 if you please and would you be so kind as to take back March 2013? Thank you so very much. It’s very dear of you.
We have loads of snow. So much in fact that I had to beg my magnificent plowman Jim to get his lovely little butt over to the house and plow my driveway. My calls started out sweetly enough. Jim likes me. We have known him for years and we always run out with coffee and cookies or treats when he plows the driveway. But he was busy GODDAMMIT and so he couldn’t make it to the house. For some ridiculous reason but partially probably that the Gods have a sense of humor and like to see how I will react when pushed, at 3:45 on Friday 4 teenagers showed up at our house. 2 for Cabot and 2 for Beatrice. Wouldn’t you know it…. They trudged all the way down the driveway…. I think if there had not been so much snow I might have been able to hear the squeeling of the tires of the getaway cars that head deposited these delightful teens at the end of the driveway.
Anyway, wouldn’t you know that at 4pm the Governor of Massachusetts issues a driving ban for AT LEAST 24 HOURS. Um, yah. Seriously? Seriously.
Remember I now have a small house and am completely outnumbered by teens and OF COURSE I have no food in the fridge that anyone would want to eat (even though it is brimming with fresh vegetables, lentils, hummus, salad dressing, pita bread and sprouts. I cannot imagine why that wouldn’t appeal to a teen.
Not an oreo or a Dorito in sight. No Siree.
You, Mummy Dearest, are up the creek without a paddle. Or more aptly, down the drive without a shovel.
So anyway, we survive the night and even managed to keep our power so we didn’t have a technology deprivation nuclear meltdown the likes of which I can only imagine if said teens could not post to Instagram, update their Facebook status, Snap chat 4 friends and face time three more. Thank you Jesus!
Oh, and what if the teen boys had no longer been able to fire up the Xbox and kill and steal and maim? My goodness, what then? Board games? I shudder to think.
Somewhere along the line there were videos made, cookies then more cookies then brownies mixed, baked then devoured before cooling.
Still I phoned Jim with no luck. “I’m trying Suke. I’m working on it. I will be there as soon as I can”. Dude. They are all going to gang up on me soon if you don’t show up. My pleas got me only a laugh from darling Jim.
Finally. Finally Finally. 4pm a full 24 hours later a snowplow turns up. It takes him numerous tries to get down my narrow access drive and then to plow around my tight circle. When he gets within shouting distance I tromp out in my boots (the snow was 24 inches deep so this was quite the undertaking) and say hello and thank you and how are you and you must be so tired and all the other niceties.
Poor fellow had clearly been cooped up in the cabin of his truck for the better part of that 24 hours. He opened the truck door, stepped out and proceeded to engage me in conversation. 20 minutes later we were still chatting and I had learned more than I ever wanted to about his life The full download. Jeepers I AM SO SORRY that your wife just left and your ankle is terribly sore and your cat has leukemia and you worry about your aging parents. Really? It’s flipping snowing and my house is full of marauding teens. Can you please just plow the driveway?
I defaulted to an offer of coffee and cookies and retreated into the house to let him finish the plowing.
Not more than 1 minute after I walked inside did I notice that he had stopped his truck again. He was just sitting there. And sitting. And sitting. GODDAMMIT he is stuck.
I sit inside and hope that he will figure it out but clearly he is seriously stuck.
So back out I go. Smiling. Trying to not make him feel bad even though I want my driveway plowed so I can send these most lovely but starting-to-get-on-my-nerves teens back to their own homes. I walk up to the car. He sheepishly opens the door. Smiles at me with a big smile and says. “Hey, I am TOTALLY stuck”. Duh.
THEN HE PROCEEDS TO BLAME IT ON MY RED HAIR. Said he found it and me disarming.
Seriously? Seriously. Is that a pick up line or an insult? And I don’t care cause I just want to get OUTTA HERE!!
I don’t even know what to do with that so I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do: I made light of it. I laughed. Then I laughed again.
Then I walked back into the house and texted my sister in Sweden about the weirdo stuck in my driveway (who is, by the by, also a redhead). She laughed. We commiserated.
So he got unstuck. Jim sent his son to help him out. Of course I got billed twice. Of course I did.
You know why?
Cause I’m a readhead. That’s why.
Blondes have fun. Dirty blondes have more fun (so I hear). Red heads just cause trouble. Present company excluded.