Oh, It's A Jolly Holiday With You, Liss

On Monday, Martin Luther King day, I took the kids to Melissa's house to visit. (For those of you not in the know, Melissa has been my best friend for 20-some years now).

The kids exchanged Christmas presents, and then Melissa's babysitter came over so Melissa and I could go to lunch. While I was following her to the restaurant, it started snowing. When we finally left the restaurant, 3 hours later, it had turned into quite a little snowstorm.

Driving home was slippery, but not treacherous. When we reached Melissa's cul-de-sac though, it hadn't been plowed yet. Her driveway has a fairly steep little downward slope, so right before I pulled in I decided that wouldn't be the best idea. I thought I'd back up and just park on the street.

Well, backing up turned into me sliding a quarter of the way into her front yard. She got out of her car and came over to try to direct me out (clad in her perfectly cut purple wool coat, her perfect shade of heather gray scarf, and her perfect dark denim jeans tucked into black Uggs, of course). No matter in which direction I tried to drive, my tires were spinning.

She decided to try to push (if you actually can push while holding your Louis Vuitton handbag casually yet stylishly over one forearm), but that wasn't working. Not even after I yelled "Puuuuuuuuuuush, bitch!!!" out the driver's side window at her. "I can't push when I'm laughing!!". Sure, THAT was why she couldn't push. I had her get in the car so I could try pushing. Of course, I had to wait a few minutes to try..."Hold on! I have to adjust your seat, it's uncomfortable!". Once she was casually yet stylishly situated in my driver's seat, I tried pushing my hardest but after I few minutes I gave up and said, "Damn! Cars are heavy!".

Melissa suggested we go inside to regroup and strategize. She grabbed a huge bag of salt, and called her husband. He said salt wouldn't work on grass. Now, they've only been married a few years. He'll learn here shortly that it's never a good idea to tell Melissa her idea won't work. She hung up the phone and said to me, "Salt might not work if you use it the way it's INTENDED to be used....but anything will provide traction if you use enough of it! Come on!".

I must take a moment to explain that these are moments I live for. Being in a dilemma with Melissa is the most fun a girl like me could ever have. We both love grand adventures, but while I face an adventure with serious determination and unwavering fortitude, Melissa faces adventures with excitement and passion, exuberant about the opportunities to invent new methods and tools! So getting into a sticky situation with Melissa is entertainment personified.

When I told her that I had called my husband while she was calling hers, and he suggested that we call on one of Melissa's neighbors to help us, she looked at me as if I had just said "Eric suggested that we strip to our underwear, and do an Indian dance around your mailbox, in the hopes that the Cherokee Spirit of the Water will send down a warming rain to melt the snow". She said "Has he MET us? Does he want to deprive us of all enjoyment???". Our poor husbands.

So we marched out into the frozen tundra (we both love the phrase "frozen tundra", so it was used at least 37 times in a 20 minute period). I got into the car, and Melissa, still clad in her perfect cold weather ensemble, began dumping great piles of salt beneath my tires. Not the entire bag, mind you..."We must conserve! Who knows how long we'll be out here nor what will happen!!". (Yes, I realize we were 15 feet from her big warm house, but we were trying to pretend it was a real drama, so just go with it).

At one point, a pickup truck came down the street from the cul-de-sac. He didn't stop to help. I yelled out at him as he drove past "We're fine, thanks!". Now, we were having too much fun to want his help. But if you're going to be a male and drive a pickup truck, it is required of you to stop and help women having car troubles. Otherwise you must immediately return your pickup to the dealership, along with both of your testicles. It's in that lease agreement you signed, go read the fine print...anyway, I digress.

Once she finished making her giant salt piles, she stepped back and gave me the go-ahead. I gave the car some gas, and the tires started spinning again, but after a few seconds I felt them gripping and I moved forward a couple of feet. We were hootin' and hollerin', I was doing some fancy seated forward hip thrusts, trying to help the car move forward, and Melissa was doing some giant arm waves, willing my car onward. After moving forward a bit, the tires started spinning again. Melissa called out for me to stop, and came to the front of the car to apply more salt piles.

"See? I told you conserving some salt would come in handy!!". She salted up the new spots, and decided to push again this time. She came around to the driver's side window, and put her arm inside the car to push, since the driver's side tire was spinning more than the other. I pushed down the gas pedal, and the spinning tire caused the salt to shoot up into her face and all over her cute outfit. She jumped back sputtering and spitting salt out of her mouth. I leaned over and grabbed my big wraparound sunglasses and handed them to her. She said "Awww yeah, that's what I needed!!", put them on and came back to push.

That time the pushing worked. The sunglasses did the trick. We made it out of the front yard into the street. I got out of the car and did my victory dance, which involves raising my knees up as high as they will go, while hunching over like Quasimodo. Melissa shouted to the world "Don't even TRY to tell me salt won't work on grass!!!".

Then I packed up my children and drove home.

It was a delicious afternoon.