Coming out of the blizzard

Editors note: Today's column is purely a work of satire and invention.

Sunday, like much of the East Coast clobbered by a way-annoying blizzard, I was snowed in. That is, until I took shovel in hand and dug myself out. The sound you hear is my spine snapping. Scraping more than a foot of snow off your front steps, then tossing it into the street until you have a snowdrift bigger than a person, will sometimes do that.

Snow was once so wondrous, until I became a Single Homeowner more than a decade ago. That changes everything – you see snow not just as an inconvenience, but as certain catastrophe.

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No matter how deep the snowfall, our street's hardly ever ploughed – despite our heavy property taxes. Nevertheless, in my neighborhood we're still required by some obscure city statute to immediately clear off our own sidewalks or else face some nasty form of municipal retribution, like beheading. As a survivor of Philly's Trash Court, I have no desire to experience their Snow Court, so it behooves me to comply with the law. Worse yet, we can be sued if someone slips and falls on the sidewalk in front of our houses, something else to worry about, besides beheading.

Sheer disaster also looms, say, if the snow on my deck is more than knee-deep. Then I must clear the deck off immediately, and pour rock salt down the two nearby roof-drains to keep them from freezing in the freeze-melt cycle, or else the custom-installed designer stamped tin ceiling in my kitchen begins to leak from trapped migrating water. A roofer once explained it to me scientifically, but don't ask!

Of course, I could pay someone else to shovel my sidewalk and deck, but I'm too cheap to pay those rates.

Today, however, half-frozen and knee-deep in a snowdrift, shovel in hand, I have a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig breakthrough. I'll share it with you: Finally I give up wanting a man to shovel my snow for me. Sure, it's comforting having a husband or boyfriend do the heavy lifting stuff, but that's ridiculous. It's my responsibility-- why fob it off on somebody else. I'll just think of myself as Lesbian for a Day, and that will be that.

I have to say, from this moment on, everything changes for me. Suddenly, my snow shovel slides through the drifts at the speed of light. I clear off my sidewalk in seconds, no huffing and puffing. When I go inside, I no longer worry my makeup is smeared or my hair is messy or my thigh is lumpy. I know someone – besides my cat – will adore me for my inner beauty no matter what.

When the telephone rings in the midst of this blizzard and it's "Dolly," my marriage-centric friend – aren't they all? – breezily inquiring how I'm enjoying the "romantic" snowfall, I kind of snap out. Romantic snow? I think to myself. Easy for her to say-- her husband shovels her sidewalks!

Dolly: I love the snow. Soooo romantic. My husband and I skied this morning.

Me: On city streets near your house?

Dolly: Right. Great fun. Well, any romantic Valentines Day plans?

Me: After this blizzard?

Dolly: Sure. You and your fondest friend, as you call him, "Freddy from Fresno." Blizzards are sooo great for romance.

Me: Well, "Freddy's" kinda snowbound, several states away. The commute's rough in this weather. So, probably no celebration this week. Besides, I'm a lesbian. Actually, "Freddy" was my "transition chick."

Dolly: A lesbian?

Me: Yes! You know "Dr. Briggs," my once-and-future therapist, always was a lesbian. Plus, my last dog and cat were female, and all my acupuncturists. And my current cat's gay like my first dog, Froggy, who wore little, knit vests.

Dolly: Really? I'm so happy for you!

Me: Thanks. Yes, and as a lesbian, I've started to do lesbian things. I mean, besides wearing fuzzy bunny slippers, comfortable flat-heeled shoes, and thick boot-sox. Like watching Margaret Cho videos. She's really smart, funny, and very political. Plus, I've been spending more quality time with my cat. I also have a prospective girlfriend all picked out – "AstarteElla" – by accident we wore matching purple outfits to a meditation workshop. I know we'd be perfect together!

There – just testing the waters. I hear Dolly's sharp intake of breath. I guess she won't bother trying to fix me up with any of those awfully peculiar guys any more – what a relief. And oh, from now on, please call me PhoebeLea, OK?