Doing my fears this month, in case you missed day one.
Day 9: Ice
Rate on the scary scale from 1-10: 5
Between today's post and yesterday's, you guys will all start thinking I'm just one big klutz who falls a lot.
Well, you'd be right. It's genetic. (Thanks, Mom.)
I hope you all know I'm not talking about a piece of ice someone shoves down your shirt or your pants, I'm talking icicles and (big gulp) black ice.
Black ice is not a friend to those of us who manage to fall off flip flops.
What I hate about black ice is it's so sneaky. Like, you don't know if you're coming up on black ice or water. So, me being someone who doesn't like to fall on my butt, I treat every wet spot and puddle as if it's black ice.
The hubs will speed walk through a parking lot without even looking (or slipping). Me, I can be as careful as can be and I manage to find the one patch of ice and slip on it.
Not only do I slip, I yelp, drawing all attention to my clumsiness.
And icicles... so beautiful. I love them from a distance. Because have you ever heard the horror stories of those things impaling oblivious victims? *shudders*
Oh, and just a reminder of the group blog I blog at Falling For Fiction. I'll be posting over there today as well if you have time to stop by, I'd appreciate it!