At one of my favorite pasta chains I looked through the window and saw this sign.
Ok, ok, I get it. How ironic is it that I didn’t get it six months ago when I stumbled home after my pasta bowl and usual three glasses of wine. Later, I lost my dinner in the toilet. I blamed the restaurant because according to my logic I had definitely been food poisoned.
The Izze was a perfect complement to my meal. Beyond the sign was my destination, the ice skating rink chuck full of families, kids, and pimpled teenagers who rule hockey teams. How could I be such a chicken about going ice-skating by myself? I was dying to go. Every weekend I just knew I was on my way only to get sidetracked with excuses. My sister-in-law wanted to go, but I didn’t want to wait on a person who misses every single plane flight she books.
After my pasta I decided to casually walk around the rink with a swift I’m-busy-and-on-my-way-someplace-important pace. The skaters were standing outside the rink watching teenaged workers shovel some green ice off of the rink. It didn’t look good. Was it closing? Would I have to well up the nerve again next weekend? I ditched my computer and bag in the car. I had to go over to see what was what. It turned out that the coolant had leaked on the rink. They would be closed for another thirty minutes. Hmmm, what to do now? Soon, I had a meeting with Booger Picker and Stan. At first I was going to leave but then I got some determined energy. After a 20 minute nap in the car (for my pasta heavy stomach) I traded my credit card for rental skates. One slow lap around and I knew waiting was the right decision. Ice-skating is super fun!
Great! Why does the ice suddenly need a Zamboni two minutes after I got here? I was only able to make three more laps before I had to leave for my meeting. Next time I will bring my sister-in-law.