Pursuing the poetical, paradoxical, metaphorical, lyrical, artistical, majestical, and mystical.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Spikes on ice

Alaskan winters are not as windy as North Dakota ones, but just as cold.  The no wind thing makes the piles of ice and snow just grow into mountains in the parking lots, everywhere.  I was having some work done on my car so borrowed my roommates to go grocery shopping.  In those days, I was an office girl trouncing around in pain in high heels.  The parking lot was deep in ice lumps, clumps, ruts and slicker than snot.  Grocery carts do not work in these conditions.  
I grabbed one brown bag under each arm and had another 2 in each hand.  Trudged up and down
each row, over and over again looking for my car.  Was it stolen?  Did I lose my mind?  I finally went back to the bench outside to try and think.  It was freezing, so I put my bags down and hunkered into my coat with my hands in my pocket.  What strange set of keys were those?  
The right car was waiting right in front of me.....1st isle, 3rd car down.   Whew!   I hate spikes. 

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