Having spent the weekend in the workshop to stay on top of the Presidents Day sale orders, I'd finished today by 12:45pm. In the workshop, that is. Springfield has had snow overnight, and while Jason was left printing shipping labels, I took myself off outside to clear the paths and the driveway.
I love the snow. It's still a novelty to me after all these years in America. I never tire of it. We don't get snow like this back in England. Our climate is a damp one and when it does snow, we tend to get two inches of the stuff (although this year there's been a few exceptions) and all the roadways grind to a halt.
Having finished shoveling our driveway, I cleared the mailbox of snow for the mail van, and like a child, I put the shovel to the cleared concrete and started speeding up the path. Big mistake that was. I dunno what happened to my right leg, but it skidded up in the air in front of me in tandem with the left leg. I came back down to earth, backside first, in full view of the neighbor across the street.
I hate it when you fall and there's other people around. When you're on the ground, you feel like the biggest pratt in the world. Whether you're hurt or not, your instinct is to get up as quickly and gracefully as possible, like nothing happened. I messed that one up, too. In my haste to get up, my foot slipped and I went back down again. I got up a little slower the second time. Dusted the snow off my clothes, and looked across. My neighbor spared my blushes and kept his head down like he hadn't seen anything. But I'm certain he did.