There’s only one way out of my neighborhood, up the hill at the end of my street. And when it’s icy we’re sealed off from the world. No one goes to work, or to the store, or anywhere. Until the snow and ice begin to melt and patches of asphalt begin showing, a four-wheel drive won’t go up that hill.
Most of us sort of like it that way, at least for a few days, especially on weekends.
We don’t get much snow down this way, near Raleigh — the forecast this winter is for three to five inches, a total of three to five inches. So snow days are holidays, time to build a snowman and go sledding and then come back inside, sit around a fire, and drink hot chocolate.
After a few days people start to get cabin fever and want out — we can hear traffic moving on U.S. 64 just a few blocks away, but we can’t get to the highway. So when the red licks off the candy a bunch of us get together and clean the snow and ice off that hill.
One year after it snowed, on the second morning, when we were still sledding, still on holiday, the bachelor who lived at that end of the street attacked the hill all by himself, a job that would take one man pretty much all day. What was the matter with him?
Somebody told him if he would just wait a day, we would all help.
And this what he said, words to this effect: “I can’t wait. I have company at my house, a girlfriend. She was supposed to leave this morning. I have more company coming this afternoon, another girlfriend. I can’t wait.”
Well, why didn’t he say so!
A bunch of us, all married guys, went home, got our picks and shovels, came back and cleaned the snow and ice off that hill licktety-split.
When we finished his friend drove away. And early that afternoon, his other friend arrived.
Coming Monday: He Smelled So Bad
