The loan officer wanted to know the mileage on my car. You know, so she could give me a better interest rate.
“Hooray!” I said, “I'm on it!” I thought, and then glanced at my car, encased in ice in my icy driveway. But I was still in my pajamas, So not ready for prime-time. Holly had already left for school, and Noah, wisely electing to skip a treacherous commute to class had gone back to bed.
Phooey. I wasn’t willing to swap my cozy duds for work attire just yet for a mere odometer check, so I threw on a coat, barely concealing my ensemble: an old red plaid flannel pajama top layered over a long beige T-shirt and baby-blue pinstripe pants. I know! The height of fashion. “There’s been a struggle,” it screams, but no matter.
I was on a mission to refinance my car (I got a lower interest rate from my credit union so I could leave the big bank. Yay!), so I made a run for it, so to speak, my good-for-nothing (i.e. zero traction) Birkenstocks and I gracefully skating along on the brick walkway between my house and the driveway. It wasn't pretty. Suffice it to say that the Olympic team should head to Pyeongchang without me. My daughter would shriek if she saw me, I thought, before wondering whether I could pull off a camel spin in my slippery shoes. I laughed so hard I had to grab the car to keep from falling. Yes. And then I had to break into it. You know, because ice.
Mileage recorded, I scooched back out of the car and psyched myself up to skate back to the house, but not before spotting the Cheez-It box someone had left on the back seat. Score! It’s the little things, right? I tucked that box under one arm, grabbed the fresh container of paw-safe ice melt I’d left behind after a shopping trip (score again!), and, my dignity hanging in the balance, thought better of it and stuffed the Cheez-It box under my coat (yes, yes I did) before shuffling and sprinkling all the way back to the house.
“Oh, what a beautiful morning!” it was not. I considered having the Big Red Dog sign a waiver holding me harmless should he tear his ACL on his way out to the yard to do his business. Then I sprinkled a little more ice melt on the steps before snapping the container shut when errant beads of the stuff flew backwards and into my bed-head. Ha! Well, at least it’ll be handy. You never know when you’ll need a pinch, right?
Jennifer DuBose lives in Batavia with her family. Her column runs regularly in the Kane Weekend section of the Kane County Chronicle. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.