So I went outside this morning to brush the snow, yes, the SNOW, off my car. I'd started my car from the house and, because I hadn't left the heater turned up high or the fan on, I first tried to open the car door to fix that. Might as well have all the help I could get to melt the snow off the windshield. I pulled on the driver's side door handle and got no response. Nada. I went around the car, sweeping off big patches of heavy snow and tried the other door handles. They were frozen shut. Every single one of them.
I swept the snow off the door frame and looked for ice. Not that I really wanted to scrape ice off the car, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get to work. The snow was swept away and I thought, that's funny, there isn't any ice on the door. Oh well, I mused, the ice is inside the crack where I can't reach it. Tucked out of the way like a protest about it snowing, for gawd's sake, before the leaves have even hit the ground. I stood there and tried to remember how to thaw frozen doors, wished that dearest one hadn't left for work 90 minutes earlier, and then feebly kicked one of the doors to see if I could jar it loose. No luck. Stupid car. I brushed all the snow off anyway and by the time I was done, my hair, which I'd just blow dried, was wet from the big, fluffy snow flakes coming down. I might complain about snow in October, but the sight of snow flakes in the glow of the yard light is magical any time of the year.
I looked about me and thought about work. I thought about my warm bed and how wonderful it would be to go crawl back between the covers. The Puglies would happily be foot warmers. I'd just have to wait until the warmth of the sun thawed that invisible ice stuck in the cracks of the doors.
Just as I was about to go back into the house and call my boss, I wondered if maybe my car doors were locked instead. So I turned back to my car.
I made it to work on time just fine.