The Place to Be

It's true, my transformation to Eva Gabor is almost complete.

When I started dating The Boy MORE THAN TEN MONTHS AGO (but who's counting?), he mentioned that winters at his place were a little tough. At the time, we were sitting on the deck on a gorgeous summer night after yet another ordinarily gorgeous summer day. We were sunkissed, nicely exhausted from a long hike, and our bellies were full of delicious food. There was likely wine involved. And I remember breathlessly thinking "I bet it's beautiful here in the winter."

And I was right-- it is beautiful here in the winter. But there really is an awful lot of winter. And even more driveway. Very steep driveway. 200 yards of it, to be exact. As previously established, I'm no math whiz-- but I'd guess that driveway is like at a 400 degree angle. And my rear-wheel drive tank of a Durango is just no match for it.

We suspected as much pretty early on, so the plan was always to just leave my car at the foot of the driveway when it snowed. I kept a walkie-talkie in my car so that when I got home in the evenings, I'd call "Dogfort, this is Red Leader, over" and Derek would drive down to pick me up and drive me back up the almost impossibly steep driveway. It was a perfect scheme.

My first exposure to how things were really going to go down was after our first good snowfall, sometime in October. We walked out onto the front porch on a random Friday morning, and I could see his 4-Runner across the broad expanse of the driveway-- which had been magically transformed overnight into an ice rink. The ice was literally like 3 inches thick. It was magnificent. Because I'm me, I was wearing some fabulous 5 inch platform peep toe stilettos. Boldly, I stepped out onto the ice, immediately becoming Bambi as he walked onto the frozen pond, just without all the cuteness and free time. Derek grabbed my arm and said "Don't move. I will come to pick you up."

On our way down the traitorous driveway that morning, he mentioned that he probably needed to outfit me with some proper winter gear or I was going to end up hospitalized. As he was already indoctrinated by then, he mentioned he'd make sure I had a high heel cast like the one in "Inglorious Basterds."

Yep, that's exactly how I would roll.

(And true to his word, he went on his first ever shopping spree for me. While I had the shopping montage from "Pretty Woman" in mind, what I actually got was a parka, snow pants, long johns, water-proof gloves, a hat, and some waterproof snow boots. When fully outfitted, I look not unlike the Michelin Man. But I digress.)

So the shuttle arrangement worked for quite some time...and then came to a screeching and unceremonious halt when we got two feet of snow at Christmas. The 4-Runner joined my Durango at the foot of the driveway...and I spent two weeks sitting on the couch. As fate would have it, I had pneumonia and was basically as dead to the driveway as the driveway was dead to me.

Eventually the snow melted. And so we limped through January, with the Durango occasionally making it up the driveway...and with shuttle service restored. I thought the worst was behind us and was looking forward to Spring, to bare skin and open-toed shoes. I congratulated myself on my adaptability and heretofore unknown ruggedness.

And then Snowmaggedon 2012 unleashed three feet of snow on us. And let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've seen the Michelin Woman on snowshoes trudging up the K2 of driveways. (Shout out to my girl Jen, who was with us for all of the glory that was Snowmageddon-- it seriously would have been a bust without you, sista!)

A natural, no?

There was so much snow, we couldn't even get the Durango up the canyon, much less to the foot of the driveway, so it sheltered comfortably in the garage of my house, forty-five minutes away. Oh, how I envied it. Because now your girl here was routinely snowshoeing up and down that motherfucking driveway in super-cute work outfits, refusing to admit defeat. I tried to act like I was born for this.

But alas, we all know I was not. What I was actually born with was a third of a functioning heart AND asthma...but damn it, I wouldn't back down. For a few days, I think The Boy was both amused by and proud of my valiant driveway-climbing efforts. And then came the night that the asthma attack hit me about 50 feet from the house and neither of us could find my rescue inhaler in the depths of my purse. It was scary for me-- but even scarier for him. And I know this because yesterday he bought me the nicest gift a man could ever buy for a woman.

Kubota Orange is the new black!

Yes friends and neighbors, I'm in love.

And I kinda like The Boy, too.