Picture the scene.
It's Atlanta, just after dark. Snow/ice came on Thursday. It's now Monday and there's absolutely no change in the ice or snow. (This is a first for me. Our snow/ice never lasts more than 48 hours.)
I had just picked T up from daycare, driven to Sonic (healthy, I know) to get us some dinner, gotten home, carried T, my purse, and the bag of food inside.
I'm on the phone with Nan yacking about this and that.
I leave T inside while I run (insert an ominous "Dum..dum...duuuuuum!) outside to get the two drinks that I couldn't possibly carry at the same time as the baby.
T, of course, is SCREAMING and crying at the door with her constant fear that I'm going to leave her at the house by herself (not sure how this fear developed) as I RUN outside to grab these drinks, picking up the pace because of her crying.
I successfully get both drinks without pausing my conversation or dropping my phone. I walk to the rear of the car to lock the doors back. (For those of you who don't know, my stinking back door doesn't lock with the button, so I have to lock them with the key at the back door.)
And that's when it happened. That same dad-blasted spot of ice that caused my near-splits in heels on Sunday got me in my big, rubber-soled, "snow-shoes" as well.
Down goes the phone - BAM! - to the concrete. Down goes my butt - BAM! - to the concrete. Down goes the LARGE cup of fruit punch - SPLASH! - to the concrete (and my pants, and my phone). (Miracle of miracles, the Route 44 Cherry Limeade - my personal crack cocaine - did NOT spill, which is GREAT since I needed it to help heal my wounds and ego when I got back inside.)
So here I am sitting in ice and VERY COLD fruit punch, digging my phone out of the liquid, listening to my baby SCREAM from the door. And, of course, the fruit punch caused the parts of the driveway that were more snowy than icy to become much more icy, so now I'm surrounded by ground that my shoes WILL NOT grip. So I have to flip over to my knees and crawl to the grass so I can get back on my feet.
I'm WAAAAAAY past trying to act all non-chalant in case a neighbor witnessed it. Even if they weren't watching, I'm sure anyone close by quickly turned their attention to me as I yelled my way down to the concrete and ice. Time to tuck tail and RUN back inside -- well, carefully snow-walk as quickly as possible without busting it again back inside, anyway.
The negatives of this story? MAN am I sore! I fear my phone will go kaput very soon with some hidden fruit punch in the wrong place. My driveway is now frozen red. My courderoy pants AND underwear are now red.
The silver lining? I was NOT holding the 19 month old when I busted it. No one had a camera on me when I busted it. I did NOT spill the cherry limeade (yipee!!!). AND, I have a fabulous snow story finally. It only took me 30 years. :)
L&S (and icy safety),