Slippery Sidewalk

The winter of 88 was an especially cold and icy one. We were living in a townhouse . Our sidewalk for some reason collected all the drippings from the other houses. If the ice up the street started to melt, the water would run down and refreeze on our sidewalk. This particular winter we had a thick layer of ice covering our walk. Thick. And slippery. And not a surprise, although you wouldn't know that by this story. The first incident happened one night after work. I was making dinner when there was a frantic pounding at the door. There was my neighbor who was very pregnant with a wild look in her eye. "Your chimney is on fire!" I immediately spring into action. I start running around the house looking for fire. I run upstairs, nothing. I run down the basement, nothing. If the chimney were on fire wouldn't I smell something? Wouldn't there be smoke? Wouldn't there be ....a chimney? As I'm heading upstairs for the second time, this dawns on me. We don't have a chimney. I go to the door and tell her this. It takes us a minute to toss this revelation around. Hmmm....the next door neighbor! We must act fast. We head down the slippery sidewalk. I'm holding her and we are slipping all over the place. There were laws of physics shattered that night. How we ever got next door I'll never know. Did you ever see Christmas Vacation? We were definitely the neighborhood Griswald's. Our neighbors were the ultra contemporary career couple. Not alot of potluck dinners planned with them. So we get to the door and of course pound on it. He opens the door. We were received as warmly as if we had left a flaming bag of doggie doo on his porch. We yell simultaneously, an inch from his face "your chimney is on fire!!!!" He is kind of half amused but definitely, yes, definitely annoyed. I picture him saying this with a French accent because it sounds more condescending "I know, I just lit my fireplace...it's just embers....thanks." Slam. Ok than. Our work is done. My neighbor and I parted. Never to speak of it again. The second sidewalk story involves my husband. And his trenchcoat. Trenchcoat. You gotta have a certain persona to pull off a trenchcoat. I don't know...like.. a waist. We have both packed on some pounds since 88...back than we were thin. It doesn't matter how thin Jim is....no hips....no waist....for the love of God..no trenchcoats!!! Jim loved the trenchcoat. He would cinch the belt up real tight, grab his briefcase, and head off to work. On the world's slipperiest sidewalk. Everyday. Everyday the slippery sidewalk surprised Jim. For a week. 5 straight days Jim lost to the sidewalk. It was the highlight of my day. Normally I would be upstairs getting ready for work. A quick peck on the cheek and Jim would leave. I was concerned about the road being icy so I looked out to survey the situation. Jim went down. In the tightly cinched trenchcoat. The first day he did the stop, drop and roll. My personal favorite. He sort of curled up in a ball and rolled to the car. I was peeing my pants. That night I was like, why Jim? Why the rolling? Why? Apparently he had learned it in stuntman school. "So I wouldn't hurt myself." I told him I would rather be in a body cast than let anyone see me do that display again.
The next day, the same thing. Some days it was the rolling, some days he crawled on his hands and knees, some days he just lifted his feet and slid on his butt to the car. Everyday I laughed. Everyday I said, "why don't you walk on the grass?" It was his challenge. He would not be defeated . The ice kicked his butt. Thanks to some icemelt and the sun's appearance, the slippery sidewalk was gone by the weekend. Thanks to a well timed trip to Goodwill, the trenchcoat was also gone. The ice may have come back, but I made sure that coat didn't.