Where did all the warmth go?! I was not prepared for the forceful blast of frigid air that body-slammed me as I walked out of dinner and a movie last night ("Old School" = good old-fashioned low-brow toilet and sex humor, and Vince Vaughn is brilliant, as always).

Nor did anyone warn me about the icy roads . . . my icy driveway, in particular. In essence, I slid down my driveway straight -- and hard -- into a snowbank that had drifted up against the outer wall of my house. Several thoughts then raced through my dizzy head:
1. Did I just ruin my front bumper AGAIN?
2. Am I stuck here?
3. And if so, do I have to sleep out here, because there is NO WAY I am walking out onto that ice.
4. Shouldn't I just stay here, because if I try to reverse and go somewhere else, what else will I hit?
5. I should've worn sturdy boots instead of dressy boots.
6. If I call my dad, will he come out and help me, or will he slip and fall and break his hip?

I tenderly extricated myself from the snowbank, and managed to slide down a different part of the driveway. I decided to reverse back up the way I came, and park at the top, so I wouldn't have to deal with this in the morning. Once again, the ice totally interfered with any well-laid plans of mine, so I had a whole series of other thoughts to contend with:
1. Oh my goodness, I DO have to sleep out here.
2. My poor car! My poor car! The wheels! The wheels!
3. C'mon, GRIP! C'mon, GRIP!
4. Am I waking up the neighbors?
5. Do I smell smoke?
6. I have to go to the bathroom.

Well, my plans all worked out, and I parked at the top of the driveway. One thing I had failed to consider, however, was the fact that I now had to walk ALL THE WAY DOWN the driveway to my front door. Now, I'm no Kristi Yamaguchi, so this did not sound like a rollickin' good time. The big fraidy-cat I am, I clomped across my front LAWN (still covered with safe, non-slippery snow) to get to the door. I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder in Little House in the Big Woods, knee-deep in snow, anchored by my boots but swung about like a rag doll by the wind, blinded by my hair, scarf covering my whole face but for my dried-out eyeballs.

Sigh. Thank goodness for long underwear and flannel pajamas.