A long time ago I had a dog. He was a very entertaining dog, but one of my favorite things he did every Winter without fail (unless it was a snow-less Winter) was to go outside, where earlier my kids had made a snowman, run over to it and bark aggressively, because, you know, the snowman was an intruder of course and therefore evil. Yep, that button nose and corncob pipe didn't fool my dog. That snowman was not to be trusted. The shifty eyes made out of coal tipped him off.
Yesterday the snowmen came to remove some of the snow from my yard. Unfortunately we no longer have the local guy who showed up the morning after a storm with nothing but a shovel and young-people-type muscles and dug our car and a small walkway for us before we were even out of bed. Now while I was originally a tiny bit suspicious of him FULL STORY HERE I soon realized that we couldn't live without him. Now we have to but I'm not doing well (I'm a little short of breath and my toe hurts.) There are no longer people with shovels left in the world anymore, only those with snow removal equipment and more-than-likely minimal experience driving these kinds of things. And beards. Lots of beards.
My dog, the same one I just mentioned, hated bearded men. Now you may say, "big deal." and most of the time you'd be right to respond that way, but if you knew my dog, you would say something more on the lines of "No fucking way!" because my dog LOVED EVERYONE, except guys with beards, and now I know that my dog was probably my guardian angel.
I often wonder why people grow beards. I mean, I wonder if it is really ever for warmth. People who work in the cold often have them, but people who don't do too. Maybe it's the amount of beard that defines/categorizes the man, and maybe the type varies depending on the lifestyle. Like, for instance, mustaches and goatees are usually for the indoor type guy, like the guy at the office, the salesman, or the other kinds of guys, you know, the kind like the ones in 1970's porn movies. The longer ZZ Top kind are more likely for the outdoor type or the product of a really weird time in rock and roll where guys like this actually got laid by gorgeous women with all their teeth. I don't know. The world is crazy. I can't explain these kind of oddities. Life is a frigging mystery.
Yeah, well, that was fun, but back to snowmen. When I opened the door after it was pounded on by Frosty, I was met with suspicious looks, questions and accusations. I guess I didn't look like a very serious customer, so I promptly directed Mr. Man to another location where my husband could be found, because I figure men with beards prefer to talk business with other men because I am, after all, simply the bitch who cleans the chicken coop.
Anyway, in the end, there is now access in and out of the driveway and to the woodpile, a place in which access is crucial in my life (a statement I never expected to make ever) and now we don't have to plow through too much snow after obviously being inspired by one of the commercials like this, resulting in a bit of damage to our car which may likely conjure up all kinds of images to those who see me driving it , including the words wood and pile.
No Really. I Do Believe These are the Snowstorm Fantasies of Men.