DON'T TELL MY WIFE, BUT I THINK I JUST GOT ENGAGED

(January 3, 2018)

 

 It was a snowy afternoon in Fulton, which pretty much describes about half the afternoons in Fulton over the course of a year. My day had been a busy one, filled with brushing the snow off the car, slogging through piles of tan-colored slush, skidding around corners as I drove around town, avoiding pedestrians who didn’t feel like using the sidewalk, and brushing the snow off my car.

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Yes, I realize that I repeated myself there. I did so because, by the time it took me to write that paragraph, the car was again covered with snow and required brushing off once more. This is Mother Nature’s diabolical treadmill of winter weather. But I don’t have to explain that to you, not if you live in this town.

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By the time I had completed everything that needed completion (which is a clever way of saying that I really just got the important stuff done and was lazy about the rest), the car was ready for its third brushing off.  There was only one thing to do: brush it off and drive to a local pizza place for a quick and easy way to avoid having to cook dinner. I never said I was ambitious.

 

That’s when it all happened. I may be in trouble.  You decide.

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I skidded around a few more corners, avoided a few more pedestrians, and maneuvered my car into what appeared to be a parking space at a pizza parlor. (It was hard to tell if I was in the lines.  There were no lines, just snow and slush.)

 

The car successfully parked Central New York style; I entered the establishment and browsed the mouthwatering menu. The woman behind the counter approached, leaned uncomfortably close and asked, “What can I do for you today, hun?”

 

Wow, she’s friendly, I thought. That’s nice; especially on a day like today.

 

I ordered a pizza, which prompted her to run down the other options on the menu. I guess she was just doing her job.  Her bosses should be proud.

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“We also have double cheese, extra cheese, extra double cheese, stuffed crust, pepperoni stuffed, extra pepperoni stuffed, and double extra stuffed pepperoni,” she continued. “You want any of those, sweetie?”

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Sweetie, huh? I asked myself. Maybe I’m better looking than I think.  My pants were wet from my shoes to my knees and melting snow was dripping off the brim of my baseball cap.  This is generally how I look from late November to late March.  I know you can relate.    

 

...to be continued