Bruised

Oh man, it's icy here. And I bit it. Hard.

I journeyed to my parents' house on Sunday for dinner - something that I hadn't really done in five years, and may have perhaps taken for granted. My mom went all out with the sauerkraut and kielbasa and pierogies and it was lovely and perfect. Well, for the most part.

Michigan is getting hit with the edge of the ice storm that has crippled the midsection of the country, and while the roads were okay, the sidewalks and driveways were NOT.

My dad had shoveled, scraped, and salted, but he was no match for Mother Nature. Neither, apparently, were my sensible boots. I wasn't wearing four-inch pointy-toed things, no. Sensible. Flat boots. With Thinsulate!

I parked the 'Scort in front of the house, loaded my arms with bags and treats, and started making my way to the porch. I gingerly stepped onto the lower half of the driveway, noticed that it was extremely slippery, and took my time.

The ice was all, "Whatever, bitch. Enjoy your fall!"

That's when the neighbors got a show. It was pretty much as follows:

"Whoa... careful, it's slippery... Whoa, whoa, WHOA..." Arms flailing and kablam-o.

And that is why my knee was bleeding all night. Ew.

And then we lost power. Kari couldn't feed the baby, Steven couldn't watch the Red Wings, my parents were worried about all of us driving, and we couldn't warm up any more food.

So everyone went home, the end.