November 13, 2010

Death by spoon, or bendy straw through the nasal cavity?

It is November 13th, 2010 and there's snow on the ground.  While that isn't surprising, or out of the ordinary, there is irony to that statement.

I am recently divorced.  (To channel Martha for a moment, it's a good thing.)  My ex husband and his girlfriend moved out TWO days ago.  While that sentence alone I'm sure will make for some rereading and screwed up noses, I'll get into that later.  I mention this because to come up with some money to help pay for moving, he sold some of the items he wouldn't be able to take with him to an apartment.  His options were rather mundane; extra garage fridge, lawnmower, grill, and snow-blower.  Of that list, the fridge stayed and the snowblower found a new home.  (Insert painful facial expression of 'oh no he didn't!' here.)  The fridge stayed because, as I came to find later, it has a veritable biota living in it.  The snow-blower went because he could get a couple hundred bucks for it. 

Now, this wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have a tender back.  I've had some REALLY bad back problems in my day that he was there to witness.  I mean, if you need help putting on your own socks or getting out of bed, then you know a couple Advils and some hot coco isn't going to help.  An angry TSA agent with aggression problems named "knuckles" who's told my back muscles are terrorists needing to be "roughed up" might be what it takes when I'm bad.  Thankfully, I haven't had any really bad day in several years.  However, physical exertion in the wrong way can cause those shriveled rubber bands cum muscles in my back to spasm to the point where touching them is painful.  And I have the option to shovel the driveway by myself this winter. Fantastic!

As the snow began to stick in earnest, I sent a text message asking him if he'd like death by spoon, or bendy straw to the nostril for selling the snow-blower.  I have yet to hear back.  As for the snow?  It's thankfully 38 degrees and slushy this morning.  Thank goodness for near misses.

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