Having spent the last couple of weeks cavorting with a hot blonde while heavily intoxicated and slightly naked, I am finding it a bit challenging slipping back into the routine of everyday life. (What do you mean there are no mimosas with breakfast? You mean, I actually have to cook? For other people????)

The weather isn’t helping matters either. Apparently, we’re in a deep freeze up here in the land of igloos and dog sleds. Enjoying a sixty degree drop in temperature hasn’t exactly been a lot of fun. I’m walking around, trussed up in a plethora of sweaters trying to encourage my body to remember I’m a born and bred hoser; a gal, who before her foray into tropical oceans and sandy beaches, embraced mittens and scarves and loved playing in the white stuff.

Suddenly, my body has betrayed me and my heritage; screaming at me to toss another log on the fire while I sit and shiver and dream of sun, sand and humid temperatures. Pansy ass.

Acclimating to the frigid temperatures hasn’t been the only adjustment I’ve had to make since my absence either. I’ve had to dust off my winter driving skills. Or rather, try and develop some.

Skills like learning how not to plow through an intersection, ram into a stop sign or back into the raised flower bed your husband spent a week busting his arse (and two fingers) building for you. Skills to keep your overpriced and still-paying-on vehicle out of a snow bank and safely on the icy road.

Skills like these can save your life, if not your marriage. When your dumb ass darling husband phones you and tells you he forgot his wallet on the dresser and needs you to meet him on the highway to give it to him, (all so he can buy food, pay his rent and have the ability to toss toonies at the local strippers), winter driving skills may come in handy.

But I had forgotten about such mundane necessities during my time in Mexico. It was as though I’d been tropically brainwashed. So when Boo phoned to beg me to bring him his wallet so he wouldn’t have to tack on another hour to his already six hour long drive, I agreed. Because I’m a thoughtful wife like that, always ready to help out and lend a hand.

(It had nothing to do with the fact he spent the last two weeks romancing me or the fact he surprised me with a HUGE and fabulous piece of jewellery that likely cost more than my children’s future university costs and I’m feeling slightly grateful. Just saying.)

I’ve been driving for over a decade now. On Canadian roads. In a variety of weather climates. I’m like the post man…I’ll drive whether it’s rain, sleet or shine. I’ve axle fever, baby. Mamma needs her car keys. (Did I really just refer to myself as mamma?)

Which is why it is freaking amazing that I over looked the fact I have yet to make it through an entire winter season without crashing, sliding or ditching my car in some snow bank. How it slipped my mind is beyond me. I must still be thinking of the yellow-finned tuna I snorkelled with last week.

My charming husband however, did not forget this fact. Which is why he didn’t panic when I didn’t meet him on the highway to pass along his wallet. Which is why he continued to drive towards home while scanning the ditches and looking for my ass stuck in the snow.

“I see you’ve run into some difficulties,” he calmly remarked as he pulled up along side the ditch I was trying to shovel myself out of.

“It’s wicked cold out here! You’d think with all this exertion I’d be warm,” I casually replied as I bent to scoop more snow from behind the tires. I was hoping if I acted normal, he’d overlook the fact I had driven my car into the ditch. On my first day of winter driving.

“I see you didn’t make it very far,” he observed. I swear, my ears were red because they were frost bitten, not because I was humiliated and wishing the earth would swallow me whole.

“Damn tires. They have no tread on them.” I kicked them.

“They’re new. And they’re snow tires. Good try though, blondie,” he snickered as he skillfully drove my car onto the road.

“I loosened up the snow for you. Made it easier for you to get the damn thing out of the ditch.” I shivered as I handed him his wallet.

“Thanks. Can I trust you to make it home safely without driving into anymore snowdrifts?” Funny, I detected a hint of sarcasm buried beneath his look of concern.

“I think so.” I huffed indignantly.

“Good. Because that 500 meters from here to our driveway is a long way to walk. I wouldn’t want you to get cold. Next time see if you can crash the sucker a little closer to the front door,” he giggled as he drove away.

Asshat.

Good thing I didn’t tell him about crashing into the stone flower bed on the way down the driveway. I would never hear the end of it.