Most of the men on my street went back to work today except me. The lay-off has only been a little more than a couple weeks long. I am already sleeping until just before noon. Another couple weeks and I will be keeping vampire hours. Most of the wives went back to work too. A couple of them may have stayed home because school was called off for the day because of ice and snow. There are a few stay at home moms on the street. I like that. Reminds me of that brief time in my life that preceded the bra-burnings that gave us mothers who care more about the colour of their next car than which gang it is their children are running with.
After a breakfast of mountain trout, potatoes and organic coffee I went outside to shovel snow. "Another pile of it last night and it's still falling," is what Sonja told me when she phoned to let me know she got in to work alright. The neighbour lady was out there shoveling already. She had not lifted a shovel yet because her husband had been home like me.
She was grunting. I was listening to her grunt.
"This stuff is fucking heavy!"
She was wearing her pink snowboots. I was looking at her pink boots as she wiped a cold glove over a wet forehead. I said, "Don't pick up too much. That's how my mom hurt her back one winter. Happens to lots of people. That and heart attacks."
She shoveled a little more, grunting in her pink snow boots like a cute pig if we were allowed to have sexual fantasies about cute pigs, then she said, "Fuck this. I'm not shoveling this shit."
I watched the pink boots walk away, get the slush and snow kicked off, disappear. I continued with shoveling. Soon enough I was grunting too.
After a breakfast of mountain trout, potatoes and organic coffee I went outside to shovel snow. "Another pile of it last night and it's still falling," is what Sonja told me when she phoned to let me know she got in to work alright. The neighbour lady was out there shoveling already. She had not lifted a shovel yet because her husband had been home like me.
She was grunting. I was listening to her grunt.
"This stuff is fucking heavy!"
She was wearing her pink snowboots. I was looking at her pink boots as she wiped a cold glove over a wet forehead. I said, "Don't pick up too much. That's how my mom hurt her back one winter. Happens to lots of people. That and heart attacks."
She shoveled a little more, grunting in her pink snow boots like a cute pig if we were allowed to have sexual fantasies about cute pigs, then she said, "Fuck this. I'm not shoveling this shit."
I watched the pink boots walk away, get the slush and snow kicked off, disappear. I continued with shoveling. Soon enough I was grunting too.
4 comments:
pretty funny. you should have tried to get in her pants!
Even a Canadian from Toronto ought to know one of the benefits of Canadian winters is that once we are done dog sledding, playing hockey, and getting pickled beer we haven't got much else to do but get into our neighbours' pants.
Strike the word "beer" in the above sentence. Pickled beer is that weird is that wine-beer from Belgium.
I give up. It is too late, too late.
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