Icy

My father, Mr. Crabbypants, suffers from what we call "White Panic". The white panic is an obsession with sidewalk cleanliness in the winter. It means shoveling when there are just flurries on the ground and salt. A tremendous amount of salt. Because where there is salt, there can be no ice.

Evidently, Berkley had an ice storm this morning. I woke up to a thick layer of ice on my cars and driveway. The sidewalk? Well, because of the construction and diggers, there is a bigger lake than usual. Iced over, of course. And my reaction to this? I went back to bed. No white panic here.

This evening, it occurred to me that I should do something about the iciness, lest the mail person slip, fall and die on my porch. I don't do well with guilt . . . and slaying the mail person with ice negligence? I think there would be some guilt. So while spending my bi-weekly $100 at Meijers on liquids and yogurt, I picked up some salt. Because I've been taught that salt will fix it.

It was treacherous, taking the liquids and yogurt into the house. And then I started with the salt. I have a very nice scoop, made from a wiper fluid bottle, as all the scoops are made in my family, for everything. And you know what? The salt has done nothing. A bit more traction, that's it. It's just sitting there.

Let's hope that it's sunny and warm tomorrow. And that the mail person is careful, with spikes on their shoes. And my apologies to Mr. Crabbypants. Because if he saw my walk, he would disown me.