Stuck It

Imagine Ralphy from the movie, "A Christmas Story," with his tongue stuck to a flag pole, mumbling, "Stuuuuck."

That's exactly how I sounded this morning, only I wasn't stuck to a flag pole; my mouth had frozen shut after 10 minutes of shoveling off my car in the balmy 2 degree weather.

I sat in the drivers seat after trying to reverse, brake, forward, brake and shifting my weight to try and rock the car out of it's parking spot. That's funny. My "parking spot" was on sheer ice surrounded by 5 inches of snow. It was as if I had parked in the middle of Milacs Lake and was about to go ice fishing—from the driver's seat.

Putting the car in park, I looked out the windshield and noticed it was snowing harder than before.

"Stuuuuck." I said, or was it something else.

I got out of the car and went back inside, not caring how cattywampus it looked next to the curb. I had enough snow in my boots to frost bite an army and still couldn't move my mouth.

"Stuuck it." I mumbled and called work.

Pretty embarrassing for a Minnesotan to get her car stuck in the snow, isn't it?

I thought so, too. So, I googled how to get rear-wheel drive car unstuck, and got a multitude of remedies.

None of which I felt like attempting in a blizzard. Not to mention that I don't own snow-chains, have a rope or tree to tie it to (yeah, I read that physics solution, too), have a bag of salt/kitty litter or the patience to get the car unstuck, only to get it stuck again on the unplowed roads.

How a city of 100,000 people functions with only one snow-plow—presumably shared with the neighboring small towns—is beyond me. But if they would like to drive me to work, that'd be swell.