I'm a moron. No, seriously, I have some sort of intellectual flaw or resistence to adaptation. See, I'm originally from the far south (no, that doesn't explain it) where it never gets cold and it only snows on TV. I've lived in Chicago for thirteen years and there are still times when I do the dumbest things. It took me almost eight years to get a proper winter coat. You know, first I went for looks and then I got one of those marshmallow man jackets, then, eventually settling on a vintage p-coat. However, my most recent blunder takes the cake. It all started with my very dirty car. Really, really filthy, snow stained, can't see through the windsheild dirty. It hadn't been washed since early fall. I tend to follow the line of thinking that once the weather goes bad (ie fall, winter, spring - rain, snow, rain) that there's no point in having the car washed when it's just going to be messed up again in a few days. Anyway, Dalloway (yes, I've named my car after the Mrs. She's a very literary, old Volvo) was looking grungy and driving sluggishly. Although, I think the main impetus for me was the fact that I was having trouble seeing out the windshield. One of Dalloway's ticks is her windshield wipers work, okay, but the one on the driver's side is slightly warped, so that with each stroke it leaves a streak right at eye level. Alright, so I took her to the touchless, drive through place near my apartment. I sat there contemplating whether to do the four or five dollar wash. The five gives you a forty-five second blow dry. I opted for the five and the wash proceeded. Dalloway seemed quite pleased at first but then as we proceeded to have her dried off, the force of the air on her wet skin caused an instant sheet of ice to encapsulate the entire car. I was suddenly trapped in a giant, mobile ice cube. I was, to say the least, disturbed by this turn of events. At least, I reasoned, Dalloway was clean beneath her half inch sheet of ice and hopefully, once it melted, she'd be spotless. I'll let you know in the spring.
