Did you know that I Love Lucy is my favorite sitcom ever? That Lucille Ball is my all-time favorite celebrity?
Did you know that Ricky Ricardo never once on the show uttered the words, “Lucy, you have some splainin to do”? Interesting tidbit, huh? (I picked that up from the I Love Lucy day-by-day calendar that I keep on my desk at work.)
Tonight, I think I finally made the connection. I finally understand why I connect so deeply with Lucille Ball’s character, Lucy Ricardo. I AM Lucy Ricardo. If Lucy Ricardo was a twenty-first century wife, that wife would be me. I share Lucy’s unique knack for finding myself in the most unconventional situations sometimes. Like my panty-swiping expedition with my forgiving college friend (who is still speaking to me, by the way).
I like to think I have it pretty well together. I’m the planner, the scheduler, the secretary and CEO of this business we call our marriage. I work full time; I plan, cook, and clean up after our meals (most of the time); I oversee our social calendar (I carry my cell phone calendar, a leather-bound day planner for work, and I also manage the schedule at work); I clean, iron, run errands, and basically make sure our little corporation is running smoothly. The only part I don’t oversee? The budget. Ewwww, math.
Today’s schedule included me leaving work early in the middle of another snowbelt Winter Storm Watch to drive home and pick up Clohe for her appointment at the vet’s office. She’s due for shots, and I was able to get an early evening appointment to disrupt my work schedule as little as possible. We’ve been having lots of wind in this area, which is in turn, blowing the snow all over creation. Creation, coincidentally, seems to have an address. My driveway. The appointment was scheduled for 4:20, and the vet’s office is about 3 miles from my house. I pulled into the driveway at 4:05 PM, thinking I had just enough time to run into the house, put on some jeans and my snow boots, and follow Clohe around the yard for a few minutes to scoop up some “samples.” Unfortunately, I never made it that far. Because I buried the belly of my SUV in snow. Oh, and Ryan had already warned me that he’d be working late, so I had no knight in shining armor to come and pull me out.
Naturally, then, I did what every girl in this part of the country does when her wheels are buried and she’s late: I called the vet and cancelled, then bundled up and hauled out our snowblower. When even that wasn’t enough to free my car, I admitted defeat and confessed to Ryan who, while still at work, probably had the same reaction Ricky probably did when Lucy got herself into another mess. Fortunately, since someone always has to be appointed as my guardian, our caring neighbor saw I was in peril and brought out his big tractor to pull me out. We heaved shovelful after shovelful of snow from my bogged-down tires until finally, I was able to get the Pacifica to the garage. Fortunately, I had blown the snow from the upper part of the driveway so I had no obstacles between the end of the driveway and the destination. Of course, not half a minute from the time I reached the safety of the garage, a friend of Ryan’s pulled in with his pickup truck and plow. He had received an SOS call from my frantic husband and came to rescue a damsel in distress. And had ruined his whole night’s plans in the process.
I’m happy to report that my second venture out-of-doors this evening ended much less dramatically. I had to make a quick grocery store run to buy rolls for our sloppy joes, food for Clohe, and coffee for tomorrow morning, and my trips both to and from the store were quite uneventful.
Tomorrow I might not be so lucky. You just never know what I’ll get into when left unsupervised.