Luck Part 2

Well, I was wrong about snow, and now it appears we will get some, which is perfectly fitting because I have a nonfunctional snowthrower dressed up in a tarp beside the house. With my luck, we will have 2 feet of very heavy shoveling snow. Oh, well, shoveling has worked for me for the past 30-some years.

Since most of us don't really need to go anywhere, I could technically let the snow just sit there until New Year's Eve when the temp is supposed to hit 50 degrees. Everything will melt, maybe. In the meantime, we can just park the SUV at the end of the driveway so that my better half can go to work.

I wonder how many people flew into a panic last night when the forecast changed and they couldn't go to the store for milk and TP because all the stores were closed on Christmas night. I have plenty of milk, but only 5 rolls of TP. Will it be enough? What if we have a TP emergency?

Speaking of TP, I am still waiting for my back yard to spontaneously bubble over since I found that empty bottle of antibacterial dishwashing liquid in the sink. Who poured the whole thing down the drain? Oh, my poor bacteria. I am certain the septic system is freaking out as I type. When the snow eventually melts and the ground is soaked, we will be able to track each other through the yard by our sudsy footprints.

Luck of the Irish

Ok, so I am not Irish. It turns out after all of these years of leprechauns and shamrocks and Irish Blessings (memorized, by the way) that I am Welsh. Not being Irish, I have no luck. See what I mean:

On the news of an approaching snowstorm, we were gifted a snowthrower. It had been sitting in a shed for a few years, so I expected some difficulty getting it started. First and foremost, I knew that as soon as the thing hit our garage, the snowstorm would be called off. I was certainly right on that one. Bummer--I love snow, but there will be little to none for us. It's just as well, though, because the snowthrower has turned into a vehicle of fuming frustration.

After finding the model and serial numbers, I downloaded the user manual so that I could buy the correct oil and mix it in proper proportion with the gas. Of course, I cannot do this without slathering myself in eau de gasoline. I followed directions to the letter, with the half gallon of gas and the oil and the shaking vigorously and the addition of the rest of the gas. I poured carefully. I turned the ignition, set the choke, pulled and pulled and pulled on the rope, but there was nothing. I then decided the carburetor must need to be cleaned, and I would approach that after Christmas.

Last night, I noticed an intense odor of gasoline in the house after the garage door had been opened. I thought it might have been the gas can, so I took it outside and left it there. This morning, the fumes were still there. I was a little afraid to start the car because I thought I would ignite the fumes and die horribly in a fiery inferno the day before Christmas. Obviously, I survived. As I walked around the car, there it sat: the snowthrower of gloom in a glistening puddle of 50:1 fuel mixture. Everything I had poured into that thing leaked right out on the garage floor. My world now smells like gasoline: the car, my clothes, the groceries.

I know it will all eventually evaporate, but for now my greatest concern is the smell attached to the Christmas presents hiding in the garage. How do I explain that Santa's reindeer drawn sled spilled gas all over our gifts?