Griping In A Winter Wonderland
Yeah, you're reading it right.
I have had it.
I'm not one to gripe and moan over winter. Really, I'm not. I made a deliberate choice to live where I live and one of the things I love most about living where I live is that I get a full four seasons out of every year.
I get bright sunshine and brilliant green in my spring. I get sweltering summer days with fireflies in abundance. I get crisp autumn evenings with a riot of color dazzling the landscape everywhere you look. And I get snow. My kids get to sled and build igloos and snowmen and we all put on fuzzy jammies on snow days off from school and we drink hot cocoa and life is good.
Except when you're a single Mom, who has to get to work, and you need to shovel out.
All by yourself.
Don't get me wrong, I do get help on occasion - I have wonderful neighbors and sometimes I get a walk shoveled or a snowblower coming over to break up the thick stuff at the bottom of the driveway where the city snowplow has piled it up, but 80% of the time, it's me. Just me, and my shovel, and my bottle of Advil and a heating pad on the couch later.
I was shoveling out again last night, tempted to take off my hoodie because I was steaming underneath it (I have a lot of sidewalk to shovel) and I stood a moment, leaning on my shovel thinking, "If I'm going to be this sweaty, there ought to at least be a man involved."
And one thought led to another, and I began to understand, to some degree why women would sell their bodies on the street. Because last night, I might have been willing to trade just about anything for somebody to shovel my walk - for the third time this week, I'd like to add.
I suppose the odds are not good that Dwayne Johnson would be jogging in my neighborhood, so maybe that fantasy will never make reality. But guys, you should know how completely and utterly sexy a shoveling man can be. The way those forearms flex, the shoulders looking powerful, the bending over....
You know the way men watch a hot woman in cutoff shorts wash a car? That's how I'd look at any reasonably average guy in a hat with ear flaps shoveling my driveway and sidewalk right now.
Yeah, I'd be all over that.
I go to Lowe's or Home Depot to buy salt, and I look at the guys, throwing forty pound bags of the stuff like it was nothing. My baser needs have now reduced men to body parts. Arms. Shoulders. Backs. I check them out and I think to myself:
"Ooooh, look at him. I bet he could shovel all night. All night long. He could shovel hard. And then I bet he could rest for a bit and go do it all over again."
I need help.
Literally, I need help. More than that, I need for it to stop snowing. My kids will already be in school until about half an hour before the start of next year, and my son found an icicle yesterday that was as tall as he was hanging off the shed in the backyard. I've gone through two bottles of Advil and five bags of salt. Something's got to give.
I'm going to end this now, and go dig out my car.
If I see a groundhog anywhere in my yard, I will not be held responsible for my actions.
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