A wager, you ask? Why yes: I gambled that I would get through another winter without needing a snow blower. I lost.
The physics of snow plowing and the peculiar geography of my driveway mix to create a perfect storm at the edge of the street. The result is a huge pile of snow left behind when the plow rounds the corner. We’re talking Billy Fuccillo HUGE — as in three times as much snow as the people across the street.
The guy who drives the plow for the town empathizes. “You know, whoever built your house did a lousy job. They should have put the driveway down there — not here by the corner.”
Ha. If you think they did a lousy job on the driveway, you should see how drafty the house is. But that’s a story for another day.
Moving the driveway would be way too expensive, so maybe it’s time to consider a snow blower. I’ve stubbornly refused to give in so far, instead, dragging my 48-year-old butt outside at 4:30am to shovel.
I actually could have bought one this year, but chose to spend the money on that birthday party for my wife. If she comes out some morning and finds me face down, I hope she remembers that I did it all for her.