[My phone rings…]
Me: Mwah time is it? Where am I?
Rocco: Sorry Hon, where did you park the car?
Me: Is it Tuesday? Oh wait, you’re driving?
Rocco: It’s Friday. The buses aren’t running.
Me: I think it’s on Garden.
Rocco: K, thanks.
Me: Be safe, k?
[Time passes. Then Rocco’s phone rings…]
Me: Where the hell are you?
Rocco: At the ferry. Why? Where are you?
Me: Standing in the middle of Garden Street with a pair of skillets.
Rocco: Um, why?
Me: To help you dig out the car.
Rocco: It’s too buried. I gave up. We don’t have a shovel.
Me: I know, that’s why I ran downstairs to rescue you with my trusty skillet.
Rocco: The cast iron skillet?
Me: Now who on earth would use a cast iron skillet in the snow?
Me: I’m going back inside now.
Rocco: Did you bother to put on real clothes or are you still wearing your pajamas as you stand there in snow boots holding skillets?
Three days later, the car is still completely buried.