The first snowfall hit at the end of the year, and I was in no way prepared. I had gotten used to wearing shorts and no jacket in December.
Upon entering my car I realized the windshield was covered with snow. Being lazy, I didn't feel like walking back into the house to get the scraper so I flipped on the wipers. The slushy snow didn't move so I turned them on full blast. The wet, heavy snow didn't move and neither did one of my wipers. It was broken.
Thankfully it was the passenger's side wiper, so I drove to work down a wiper in the sleet.
After work I stopped at an auto shop. As I was heading out of town the next day it needed to be fixed ASAP.
The guy at the shop said it would take about an hour to fix so I had him drop me of at a local bar/eatery.
Halfway into my Rueben a man resembling the Gorton's Fisherman, sans yellow rain parka, saddled up next to me. I was three beers in and had participated in enough small talk the past two-plus hours so I called the shop only to be told a part had to be ordered and it was going to be at least three more hours.
Three more hours at the bar meant I wasn't going to be able to safely drive my car with-new-wiper. I requested a ride home.
After my driver pulled away is when I realized the keys to my house were with the car, back at the shop. It was freezing rain and I had to pee. With sleet pelting me, I desperately checked all the doors to the house. No dice. Cold and reaching emergency status I crossed my legs and pretended to do some new yoga stretch in case a neighbor or passerby saw me.
Kegels weren't going to save me. Bathroom or not, my bladder wasn't waiting. Right there on the deck in the middle of the freezing rain I wet my pants.
It was then I remembered my bedroom window was open, as I had let in some fresh air in the 70-degree weather just days earlier. I grabbed a flower put, flipped it upside down and popped the screen in. I attempted to jump up into the window only to ricochet off the side of the house and fall backwards into a slushy, muddy mess cushioned by a pricker bush.
I pulled myself up and announced to the sky, "I'm an athlete!" Okay, I only play softball in the 35 and older league now, but still.
This time when I jumped my quads cramped up, but I managed to grab onto the windowsill. My legs were killing me as I hung half in and half out of the window. I took the cell phone out of my pocket and threw it on my bed. Classic, if I fell again, I don't think I'd be able to get up. How would I call for help?
My ribs felt like they were being cut into, my legs were useless dead rocks and my arms were shaking. Did I mention my bulldog was going ape, ready to kill whoever it was trying to break in her home?
Somehow I wiggled in a bit more, pulled one leg up, bashed my knee on something let out a huge grunt-groan-war cry, and fell onto my bedroom floor.
My "security" dog sniffed my wet pants then happily licked my feet.
After sharing my story, my neighbor Chesley, reminded me I had given her the extra key for occasions just like this, and that she was home at the time of my debacle.
Instead of being upset all I could do was laugh. The entire ordeal was my fault. Had I not been lazy and retrieved my scraper I would have removed the snow and not broken my wiper.
Who knows what the lessons on the day were? Don't take shortcuts? Don't try to force things or they will break? Learn to laugh at yourself? Think (and remember your neighbor has a spare key) before you leap?
Or perhaps it was as simple as remembering to use the bathroom before leaving the bar.