I wasn’t going to go to class tonight. I had a story due and I still seriously considered skipping. I even went so far as to send Vodo, Jags, and Hipster Mom an e-mail proclaiming my wussiness about the impending weather. It had been raining, sleeting, snowing, and thundering in Minnesota all day. I knew that once this shit started to freeze it wasn’t going to be pretty.
But then Hipster Mom had to go and send an e-mail about how she baked cookies. How could I skip? Not only did she write a new story that was due this week, she also baked cookies. Here I was sitting on my ass worrying about if the weather was going to get bad.
Much to the surprise of everyone I made it to class. Of course while we were in class, the weather turned. We left The Loft only to be greeted by sidewalks and roadways coated with a nice mix of slippery slush and ice.
As I was shuffling to Ruby with tiny baby steps (to avoid taking another spill), I met up with Vodo who was making his way to his car.
“See you next week,” I said.
“Dude,” he said. “Drive really, really slow.”
“I will,” I promised. It was only a few hours earlier that I had regaled Vodo with tales of my last bout of driving in inclement weather.
And now, just as I was heading to bed, I picked up my cellphone to find a message sent at 9:39 from Peabo. “Dude,” it started. “Don’t go to Grumpy’s. . . drive super carefully.”
While their concern pleases me, the fact that they both Duded me cracks me up to no end.