I have lived in Maine my entire life. Nearly 30 years. Yes, 30. It pains me to type that but what might be even more painful is the confession I'm about to make.

I am, apparently, a terrible Mainer.

Within the last couple of weeks, I moved from Central Maine to Southern Maine. I worked hard to get all my ducks in a row. Bathroom necessities, kitchen gadgets, sheets, the whole nine. I thought I was prepared. Then the weather happened.

I knew we were going to get some snow. But none of us expected how much we were going to get.

Want to know what I forgot to get when moving?


So, there I was, December 31st with rent (in my new place) due the next day. I didn't have any checks so I NEEDED to go to the bank. And, alas, my car was buried.

I'll add that I don't own the most snow friendly vehicle. I am such an idiot that with the craziness of moving I don't even have winter tires on yet.


Oh, and did I mention I'm sick? Yeah, I've been sick for nearly a week. So it's my sick self vs. a snow-covered car sans shovel.

This was heavy, wet, snow. No broom would have helped. The only thing I could think of that I possessed was an extendable ice scraper/snow brush so I used that to begin digging. I started with cleaning off the top of my car. Stepping close enough to my vehicle to reach the snow was over my boots. Ugh.

Then, of course, cleaning off the top made more snow around my car so I quickly realized this probably wasn't the best choice. Oh well. I was sick and not thinking clearly, right?

Next, I start digging. Digging as much as I could with an ice-scraper. My plan of attack was focusing on the tires and hoping to God I could do it well enough that I could floor it and get out of the snowy spot.

After trial and error, and a mouth that would make a sailor blush, I did eventually get out and on the road to do my errands. This weekend I WILL get a shovel. I'll be damned if I go through that nonsense again.


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