Oh the weather outside

As I stared at the pile, shovel in hand, a guy walking past asked, "Are you really going to try to get that car out?"

"You remember that story about the guy who got stuck in a crevice while mountain climbing and then cut off his own arm to free himself?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, my car isn't that guy." And with that, I started digging. About an hour into it, the men in my neighborhood all came out to tell me there was no way I was going to get the car moved.

I said a thing or two about how chivalry was, apparently, dead and then suggested that guys who weren't willing to help should get their asses back inside.

As they walked away, one of them said, "Man, that bitch ain't trifling." Truer words were never spoken.

Two hours later, I sent my dad a picture of my handy work with a text that said, "Iron girl digs out vehicle." Iron girls--it's what he calls his daughters when we do something especially tough. He called me back to tell me he was impressed.

After all I did to get the car out, I wasn't going to leave it on a city street to get plowed in again. I threw my shovel in the trunk, dumped some clothes in my back seat, and headed for the hospital parking garage. The pile I left in the middle of the road behind me rendered it impassable--a friendly, little suck it, bitches for the neighbor men.

On my way, I ran into one other person digging out. A woman my age, no less. As I slid past her, I rolled down my passenger window and yelled, "Keep at it, iron girl. You got this."

She pumped a fist in the air and yelled back, "I GOT this."

Blake and Evan, my knights in shining four wheel drive, rescued me from the hospital. This was especially impressive considering they started the day without a shovel. When I told my dad that, he laughed. "Let me guess, they went out yesterday to buy one."

"Well, yeah...but you can't really blame them. They're Georgia peaches for God's sake."

Blake, ever the resourceful knight, "borrowed" a shovel from one of his neighbors, dug out his truck, and came to get me. Chivalry, as it turns out, is not dead. It's just gay. I sent my dad a text with the borrowed shovel update. "Wow," he said. "The peach becomes a pirate. Strong work."

When we got back to the boys' place, the three of us cut onions until our tear ducts bled. Then, Evan, tapping into his inner Julia, made soup. Afuckingmazing French onion soup. Soup and bread and cheese and wine and soup and wine and wine and wine...

Let it snow.

Let it snow.

Let it snow.