Iced In

 Well fuck me gently with a shovel.

I woke up to a frozen-arse wonderland. This would be pretty except that I have clients coming. 

It has taken me about an hour to clear the ice out of maybe a quarter of the driveway. I got the walk done but that doesn’t do much good if everyone breaks their neck trying to penguin walk across the ice. For those of you living in winter, this is the post-storm floaty ice that is worse than the regular ice because it’s melting from the ground up. 

So you can fall to your doom while surfing towards your ancestors and the light, on a breakaway sheet of crunchy ice. 

So I’ve given my clients the option of cancelling today and rescheduling. Not my favourite thing to do but it beats being sued by someone who goes down like a tonne of bricks in my driveway. 

One brave soul is coming anyway. Nothing is getting between him and a fresh back wax for the beaches of Florida and all those hot, sweaty men reeking of Coppertone. 

The texts are starting to roll in. Everyone wants that hairless winter pussy. This is going to be an interesting day. 


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