Snow Fight, Part 1

During commercials, I peered out the dark window to sympathetically watch my husband battle several feet of snow out of our driveway. "Poor dear," I murmured before turning my attention back to a classic re-run adventure of "How I Met Your Mother" and contemplated getting a snack. A little while later, Brad, bedecked in snow, rudely tromped into the living room, insensitively interrupting the pivotal final moments of my show. "Could you move the vehicles so I can clear the snow out of that area," he asked. I sighed...what else would be demanded of me on this cold winter's night?

After we were bundled up, Savannah handed me the keys to the van. I scooped up little Chlo and fearlessly headed into the darkness. With adept skill, we rotated the first round of vehicles to then move onto the next set. I reached into my pocket for the van keys to encounter instead a space filled with crumpled tissues, candy wrappers and sticky coins. I froze in terror, realizing immediately that the keys had slipped from my pocket and were now, at this very moment, out there, buried in the snow. More pragmatic, Savannah backtracked, starting at the house, searching the truck's interior before joining my already frenzied search. Unable to ignore the magical glow of flashlights, Brad soon became caught up in the activity. We re-traced my footsteps, easy to distinguish as I tend to walk like a duck. Like desperate gold miners, we sifted snow in our shovels for hours. Tears froze to my face as I realized that the probability for success diminished exponentially for each of the tens times that the county snow plow lumbered by our house.

Brad finally forced his frozen family into the house, silently blaming himself for stupidly asking his wife to complete what appeared to be a relatively simple task. Once my fingers had unthawed, I quickly researched the process of replacing the key. With an additional chill in my heart, I gasped at the estimated cost of between $150 to $300. Tucked beneath my electric blanket, I stared sadly out the darkened window as my husband finished clearing the driveway, his head swinging from side-to-side as he continued to scan hopefully for a glimpse of his lost keys. I tore my eyes away from this dismal sight and refocused my attention on the television. Lucky for me, it was a "How I Met Your Mother" marathon. Brad came in about a half hour later. "Can you bring me in a snack while you're out there," I shouted. Turns out "snow" isn't the only four-letter word that my husband knows how to throw around.