Guess what. If you can set aside your pride, emasculation ain’t so bad. I posted yesterday about the embarrassment suffered when my wife went public as the family snow blower, and am happy to announce my full recovery today.
As predicted, the storm started yesterday afternoon and we woke to 12 inches of snow. Worried that my wife might call my bluff by offering to let me clear the walks and driveway, the kids and I left before she got up and walked into town for breakfast. It was one of those idyllic, snowy mornings with clean white snow and few cars on the road. I towed the younger kids on a long sled, and the older kids (including a couple friends who had spent the night) had a running snowball fight. Do you recall a time when you didn’t mind taking a snowball in the face or getting an arm full dumped down your back? My kids are there. We rolled into our local breakfast spot, ordered up hot chocolate, coffee, waffles, pancakes, sausage, the whole shebang. It couldn’t have been nicer.
Meanwhile, it was still snowing and my wife was sure to be rising soon. I texted her from the comfort of the restaurant – “driveway clear yet?” – but got no response. Where could she possibly have been? Were the shear pins behaving? Not my worry. We finished our breakfast and moseyed home. As we turned the corner into the driveway, the steps were clean, the walks clear, and Johanna was about 90% finished with the driveway. I made no pretenses about my masculinity. I whipped out my camera long enough to take a shot of Johanna in action (somewhat annoyed at her carelessness in letting the snow blow on my camera) and cruised inside to start a fire and get a fresh cup of coffee.
She asked for the job, right? Far be it from me to suggest that a woman shouldn’t operate heavy machinery.