The Natives Are Restless
Day three and the natives are getting restless. And by natives, I mean me.
I should have given my car more love on Friday when I had the chance. How could I know she was going to be trapped in the garage until April? Does she wonder where all the loud, smelly boys went?
I know exactly where all the loud, smelly boys are. On my couch. I think the last time they showered was about the same time they were last in the car.
Hygiene is overrated in a blizzard. Even if you have shoveled non-stop for three days. My only hope is to withhold meals until they are clean. Otherwise, this will go on until they have to return to school.
Whenever that might be.
Our streets are clear but the alleys that run behind them are still a little rough. And by rough, I mean 5ft piles of snow in an already narrow space. Seeing how my neighbors make sport of watching me haltingly put that giant SUV in that small garage on the daily, backing her out seems futile.
I want to take back all the times I complained about living in my car because my punishment is being forced to live in the kitchen.
Monday morning and Stiles Shoveling, Inc. was facing an onslaught of work. The spreadsheet was growing by the minute and I couldn’t keep up with the email requests. We added two kids to the company and were giving away work
I dragged the 17-year old out of bed to get started while the sun could act as an unpaid assistant. We had to raise prices because there is nowhere to put the snow. You grab a shovelful, walk it over to a humongous pile, dump it and repeat 500,000 times.
Filming for Alaska Life can begin any day.
The reality is I can walk anywhere but just walking the dog takes forever. I can’t imagine the trek to Whole Foods or Giant. They are only a mile away but walking in the road is a splash filled, duck-for-cover event.
We did find all the chocolate which makes things a little more bearable. Actually it kind of makes me want ice cream now too. And maybe a diet coke.
The bags of Kit Kats were behind a potted plant in my living room. I only found them when I crawled on all fours to rescue socks and gloves that had been discarded inside the front door. The bright red corner of the bag caught my eye.
I mean, I know my packaging and my chocolate.
I sat in the middle of the living room floor and hugged the bags like a long lost love.
Until the smell from the soggy socks and wool gloves got to me. Then I got pissed.
The Kit Kat inquisition had been going on for days. DAYS. One of my suspects had grown a green thumb and wasn’t admitting it. Which raises so many questions. Why not unearth them and eat them without me ever knowing? Why not drop them on the kitchen counter and run to protect your identity? And the biggest question of all… Are you kids just stupid?
Where is that narrator guy from Dateline Mysteries with the creepy voice when you need him?
I totally remember conspiring with my sister to hide nonsensical hijinks and take them to the grave so I knew this secret would be revealed as I sat around at Thanksgiving with my grandkids someday in the distant future.
All that really mattered in that moment was my new-found access to chocolate. Because I’m just a girl standing in the kitchen wracking my brain for a new place to hide the Kit Kats so they can be rationed until I can drive again.