Operation Bananagrams

You know when you watch news coverage of inclement weather–a hurricane, for instance–and there’s always that one, special kind of idiot who decides they will brave the storm? And then the rescue workers have to risk their lives to save this person from their own stupidity? And the person is all, “Wow! Thank you so much for saving my life. I only had 72 hours to evacuate, and I didn’t think it would be THAT bad…even though the educated minds at The Weather Channel predicted 175-mile-an-hour winds with cars and houses flying through the air.”

Yeah, that’s me.

It’s funny because I’m not the type to generally brave inclement weather. But, yesterday, I was DETERMINED to get to Target for something very important. Something I couldn’t find at home that would make round two of this Snowmageddon bearable:  Bananagrams.

Yes, I risked my life and the safety of my fellow motorists for a banana-shaped bag full of plastic letters.

Because I’m a rebel like that.

Actually, that’s not even remotely accurate. I’m the biggest weather wuss that ever lived. If I so much as hear a gust of wind, I text my best friend (who is a broadcast meteorologist) and ask when I should hole up in the basement and surround myself with mattresses. I think she considered changing her number when we moved to Kansas.

Well, too bad, Weather Girl! I’ve got your number. And if you change it, I’ve got your address.

(Seriously, I pretty much set myself up for a restraining order every time I write a blog post.)

After we left the emergency room yesterday morning (I’ll explain that one another day), I made my way into what I later discovered was the eye of the storm. This is what it looked like from inside our truck:

And before you’re all, “That’s not too bad if you’re driving a truck,” I’ll let you know that it has REAR WHEEL drive. Which means that if you so much as attempt the icy drive-through at Chick-fil-A, you’ll fishtail into the side of the building. So, it’s a good thing I parked (read: slid until I stopped) and went inside. Whew! Dodged a lecture from my husband on that one.

Y’all, I will brave anything for a bag full of plastic letters and some waffle fries.

Fortunately, I made it home safely–though I was a bit shaken up from all the fishtailing and fear of ending up in a ditch with very little diet lemonade remaining.

I made it all the way to our driveway on post, and then this happened:

Yup. That is my husband’s handiwork. That is what happens when you get a Southerner to plow your driveway. You end up with a three-foot wide skating rink.

So, I braved the eye of the snowstorm, fishtailed through the ice-filled parking lot at Target and Chick-fil-A, drove 30 minutes back to post, and then got stuck at the base of my driveway and almost crashed into my precious minivan.

I was pretty happy about it.

I think our neighbors heard me yelling from inside the truck.

So, for his poor snow shoveling skills, I plan to mercilessly destroy my husband at Bananagrams today. As soon as he plows the additional foot of snow that just fell on our driveway.

Maybe the neighbor kids should bring their ice skates.

And then maybe Honey Boo Boo will show up.

(Yet another story for another day.)

UPDATE:

I kid you not, while I was writing this post, our awesome neighbor from across the street came over and cleared our driveway and walkway with an electric snow blower. Which confirms my earlier theory that they heard me screaming at my husband from inside the truck yesterday.

For that, dear neighbor, I will share my peanut butter cookies…with your family of seven. Seven.

(…Which then leaves me four. I think I can make it through the day with only four, colossal cookies. I love our neighbors, but WHY do they have so many kids? I may have to venture back into the snow tomorrow for more. I would totally risk my life again for peanut butter cookies.)

What would you “risk your life“ to get in a snow storm?