Ice

 

{image credit: weird friends}

I slipped today, for the hundred-thousandth time in the snow. There are people who love snow, people who complain every day that it doesn't come down, saying, "When will it snow? Why doesn't it snow?" Upon hearing this plea, my instinctual gut reaction is to slap the person in the face. This strikes me as a disproportionate response, so instead I make a mere silent oath that should this person die while I am living, I will not attend their funeral.

I have a friend who gets migraines. And when I say she gets migraines, what I mean is that she's had a migraine every day for at least ten months. It is unimaginable. But what triggers her migraines, possibly more than beer or loud music or lack of sleep, is sunshine. Sunshine. The more beautiful the day, the worse she feels, so that when someone chirps sweetly, "I hope the sun comes out!" her instinctual gut reaction is probably illegal in most of the 50 states.

And so I slipped today, for the hundred-thousandth time in the snow, a patch of ice on a dark sidewalk. I swore, nearly fell, caught myself in time. I saw, a block ahead, a man walking toward me and I cringed. I wondered if he'd seen me, but as he neared I realized that he hadn't seen at all. He tapped his cane on the frozen ground, feeling for objects in his path. "It's icy up there," I warned as we passed. He said, "Yup."