Yesterday, I told you about my hubristic attempt at shoveling from the day before.
The fates have punished me accordingly.
Went outside yesterday, and roof runoff had created two major ice patches on the stoop. Chiseled them off with a hammer and screwdriver, dumped a pound of table salt out there amidst the neighbors’ sand, but it wasn’t fun. Then today, I go outside and it’s frozen again, even the salt pile I put directly beneath the hole in the gutter, and there’s ice on the steps and over the front walk. Ended up using a shovel to break apart the rink and a broom to sweep off what seemed to be gallons of pooled water. It’s not letting up, either. As the roof melts, the swimming pool out front grows, and one of the neighbors’ sisters is there with them and she’s got a baby, meaning I’ve made myself responsible for making sure someone carrying an infant doesn’t slip on the glacier I’ve created.
Now.
In my defense.
It’s possible that if I hadn’t shoveled, it’d still be slippery and it’d be hard to open our screen doors. I’m taking solace in that. (Funny story about those doors: Ours was pretty beat up when we moved in, which we didn’t mind, and so was our neighbors’, but when they moved in the landlord sent someone to paint their door and didn’t have them paint ours. So we’ve got one nice-looking door and one that looks kinda beat up. Landlords just didn’t even consider our door.)
But overall, the universe is really getting me back for trying to flex on it. Be warned, fellow Midwestern Texpats.
