This is what I found when I went out to my car this morning. (Okay, not that bad, but you get the idea.) But it was an ice cube. I attempted to open the passenger door, with absolutely no luck. After some coercing (read: kicking, swearing, digging at it with my fingernails and the cover of a library book), I got the back door on the driver's side open, found my ice pick . . . scraper . . . thing, and begin scraping. Five minutes and I could drive away without threatening myself or anyone else on the road. And then as I turned onto 800 North, I heard a pop. I freaked out, because this is what I do when a sound happens anywhere near my car.
The passenger door had finally thawed.
6 comments:
I find that swearing is the ONLY way to get my possessions to behave as they should. I've been doing a lot of it lately.
And me? (Because remember, it's all about me.)
This is why I am happy that I have an underground parking garage where ice does not form.
My parents' driveway resembles a cliff. Fortunately, it is heated so you can actually drive up it in winter. Unfortunately, it did not occur to me last night that I might want to turn on the heat. Even with the all-wheel drive, I nearly didn't make it up it this morning.
I hate winter.
I don't think Val Kilmer would make a very good me.
Oh, and it doesn't snow here, it rains. My poor Simon is drenched. But still driveable.
Live Tyler? I can't have Maggie Gyllenhaal?
(she already defiled my idenity once . . .)
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