Anything You Want, Hundred Dollar Bills

I.
Yesterday, I dug my car out of its parking space with a windshield scraper, which is to say I keep looking out the window at my car behind a plow-reinforced wall of snow I'm going to try backing through, after which I'm going to screw over one of my virtuous neighbors by parking in a spot someone owning a shovel carved out via back-breaking labor and hours of effort. It's a plan. I'm scheming, scheming, scheming - while my neighbors are still at work.

II.
Blast! A squadron of old ladies is shovelling out a few Buicks. I cannot connive properly with spectators. I started my car for a minor thermal advantage and dumped clay cat litter under my tires. Then I kicked down the wall o' snow with my workboots and - as Siobhan calls it - "almost superhuman core strength." The snow had nowhere to go but into the street. One of the little old ladies wedged out her Buick, then drove by me in the cul-de-sac slowly, like a shark surveying a netted tuna. My car's been running about half an hour. In another ten, I'll go outside and rock the car some more. Perhaps later, I can run her over a little.

III.
Snow and ice defeat me! I can move the car about a foot but no further. My thermal advantage proved only somewhat advantageous. I call Siobhan to commiserate. This weekend, we took turns failing to enjoy one another's company.

Saturday
Siobhan: [Insert logical argument here.]
Tata: I can't talk to you now! [Click.]

Sunday
Tata: I'm sorry I was dreadful yesterday. Please read me the recipe for crispy roasted duck.
Siobhan: I wasn't nice, either. Preheat the oven to 250 degrees...
[Ten minutes later]
Siobhan: Sometimes you are such a bitch!
Tata: I hope your red hair goes green!
Siobhan: Talk to you tomorrow.
Tata: Okay. [Click]

I call her cell but wherever she is, she's not there. I leave a message asking the immortal question, "How does one dig out a car without a shovel and nothing to use as a small snow plow?" While I'm outside, Siobhan calls back.

Siobhan: Hopefully, you're outside using something as a small snowplow. I myself like using a teenage boy.

Sometimes, Siobhan can be such a bitch! She knows I don't have one!

IV.
What's the use of having a son-in-law if he's a thousand miles away and noticeably not digging out my car? That is so selfish of him, to have joined the Air Force and moved Miss Sasha somewhere they can both work on their tans! I plan to spend my evening working up a fine lather of righteous indignation. And growling. Chances are good I will take a cab to work tomorrow morning. It is Mr. Sasha's fault!