Popsicle Toes
Well, here we are again in the midst of winter and it’s been snowing quite a bit of late – two snowstorms in as many weeks – and what do I have, besides snow?
I’ve got a case of popsicle toes from digging out the Mottmobile in the midst of a driving snowstorm so the Missus can drive to the newspaper office to label and bundle thousands of newspapers so they can be sent out to the news racks, stores and to the post office to be mailed to our wonderful subscribers, like you.
What, you don’t have a subscription? Why not? I mean, it’s only $22 a year, and you can’t even drive to your favorite store or news rack every week for 22 bucks, but you were already going to drive to the post office anyway.
OK, enough shaming for now. So, it was so cold the other night we had all three kitties cuddled up with us on our heated waterbed. I guess you could call it a three-cat night. (No offence to Three Dog Night). I mean it was sooo cold you could freeze the ears off a brass monkey. And, the Missus gets em, too…popsicle toes, that is, cuz they’re nearly always froze too.
“Popsicle toes are always froze. Popsicle toes, you’re so brave to expose all those popsicle toes. You’ve got nicest North America this sailor ever saw. I’d like to feel your warm Brazil and touch your Panama, but your Tierra del Fuegos are nearly always froze.” (“Popsicle Toes – Michael Franks – 1976)
My Tierra del Fuegos are always froze from digging out the ice berm at the end of the driveway left by the snowplow. The Missus get em too, so that last little number was dedicated to her and her Tierra del Fuegos.
Fortunately, I still have a warm waterbed to keep us comfy on these long, sub-freezing winter nights (as long as we still have electricity, and this time we did.) Luckily, we still have an area downstairs at the stately Motley Manor that has a good old-fashioned gas wall heater. This is the living room-dining room-kitchen complex where we get to play “Little House on the Prairie” on those cold, freezing nights.
It always comes in handy for thawing out my toes following endless hours of shoveling snow to dig out the driveway…until next week, when the next snowplow comes along.
Which reminds me, better make a run back down to Goodwin’s for another sack of ice to keep our perishables from perishing…again.
Well, it’s time to grab the kitties and bed-down for yet another, long, sub-freezing night.
“We gotta see-saw until we thaw those popsicle toes. popsicle toes are always froze. Popsicle toes, you’re so brave to expose those popsicle toes.”
Keep it flyin,’ Uncle Mott