While it comes involuntarily, slipping and sliding along icy paths is incredibly difficult to do. You have to squeeze your butt and your thighs together like a garlic press and venture out on itsy bitsy baby steps, tensing everything for the potential fall. Today on my adventure to the grocery store I must have been a sight to see: short black hair flipping everywhere, arms waving like a mad conductor, dancing all over the sidewalk to the syncopated rhythm of the irregular, half-hidden, treacherous black ice-path, black coat and pink sweater all open flapping like Grandmother’s gossipy jaw with each erratic step.


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