Yesterday, after spending all weekend finishing a project (and paying little attention to the weather), I gleefully set out from home to turn in said project. No more than five paces beyond my front door, I slipped on the black ice-covered sidewalk and sprawled (cartoon-style) on the ground. It was so dramatic a fall that passing cars stopped and drivers got out to check if I was ok. I was ok, merely bruising my dignity and tailbone.
I confess this to you, o internet, in the hopes that maximizing the audience to my ridiculous fall will max out my embarrassment. Maybe embarrassment is modular, and I'll go back to being unembarrassed.
In other icy news, on my way home from the gym, the wet hair uncovered by my hat froze solid. Solid curls of hair are interesting. It was like some sort of all-powerful gel, which deteriorated quickly once I made it back indoors.
This post's theme outdoor garment: crampons.
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