Monday, November 24, 2008

Bing Crosby

I wrote this little story last night while babysitting that's basically about how much the snow made my feet hurt. It could be better, but it's a blog post. It could be even longer so as to provide more explanation, but it's a blog post. I only mention Bing Crosby because when I think of snow, I think of lame holiday songs, some of which I have to blame Bing Crosby for.

I'd decided to leave for Aachen very last minute with naught but the clothes on my back. Of course I did not consider the practicality of my footwear. The drive back to Timo's flat began with a long, downhill slope. Giddy as we were on accounta the uniquely seasonal weather, it didn√Ąt seem so dire taht Timo could not break, despite that he was going at a mere snail's pace down the snow-covered raod. A good German driver though he is, Timo had neglected to swap his summer tires out for winter. Hopeless to drive, but not yet stranded, we left the car where is was, on the side of the road, and made to trek to our destination on the other side of the city.

Me and my buddies didn't tramp along for 10min when my feet became veritably soaked. I wined. My friend Amanda, also ill-equiped in the footwear department, complained as well. Rightly so. Our feet really hurt. Back at Timo's, I was able to remove my shoes and trot around in my water-laden socks until my feet lost some of that dreaded pins and needles feeling. But I didn't have long to recover. There was a train to catch.

On to the train station I went. The route there takes only about 20min. Having been mentally prepared for the second walk of the afternoon, and knowing it would feel as if my feet had plunged into an icy cold stream (which, in fact, they quite nearly had), the reality of the trek didn't seem so bad. By the end of the walk, though, I was reduced to a gait like something between a pained waddle and a stiff shuffle.

More than an hour later, I make it back to good ol' Neuss, but I still had to fetch my bike that I'd left in front of Simon's Kindergarten on Friday. I had to get him to school in the morning. Thank heaven there was a bus, otherwise I think I would not have won the battle. (between myself and the weather? me and my impractical shoes? I don't know, but it was war by god.) When I finally reached my bike, Simon's was still parked next to it. His parents had forgotten to pick it up after we took the bus home on Friday, rendering my long trek through the snow (okay, on the bus) obsolete.

Even the very last few meters home were torturesome. In my doorway, tearing off my shoes was arduous. Then the socks. My toes, they were white. White! I don't know crap about frostbite, so I'm not sure if I did the right thing. I tried to wiggle my toes ("wiggle your big toe!"), but it was painful. Soooo very painful. Then I tried to rub them a little. I tried ever so slightly lukewarm water from my shower, but then it felt like knives cutting through every nerve ending. I swore a lot and retired underneath the covers of my bed, convinced that I'd be crippled for life. And I swore some more. It got better, but it was pretty much the worst experience ever.


Regina said...

oooo! I hate that feeling! I think when your skin turns black it's definitely frostbite. What the hell were you wearing? ballet slippers? As a kid, that dreaded frozen feeling never kept me from going sledding or ice skating. I always figured, "Today, I'll be warm enough." It never happened.

Cam said...

Whereas I sometimes used to get "cold feet" when called upon to speak in public, I now get cold feet just from walking around on the wet ground. When it snows, it is even worse.

I like the story -- and I am very critical of other people's writing. While the German and some of the vegan stuff is out of my league, I like the way you express yourself. Why not try some things for publication in media other than the Internet?

Rachel said...

I like writing little stories. It's good to hear some positive feedback about that, Cam. I'll make a point include more on the blog. Thanks!