Late in the afternoon, The Young One and I had just finished digging my car out of the snow. Cold and tired we were anticipating a well deserved rest and a cup of hot chocolate when the phone rang. Even before I looked at the caller ID, I knew it was Prissy.
Prissy has her large circular driveway plowed, but the plower doesn't shovel her front walk or clean off her car.
"Does the Young One want to earn some money? I'll pay her to shovel my walk and brush off the car." she asked.
"We just finished digging my car out. Do you have a shovel because I broke my good one?"
"Yes, I have shovels and a broom to brush off the car with."
Ok, give us an hour and we'll come over to do yours."
An hour later, The Young One groaned as we pulled on our boots and grabbed gloves.
"Why does she have to have her car dug out now? She won't be going anywhere." said the Young One looking longingly at the laptop.
"I know, but old people are funny that way. They worry about things." I grabbed the crappy shovel and we crossed the street.
"What does she have to worry about?"
"If the snow isn't cleared she'll worry about things like, if she has a heart attack, how will the rescue people get to the front door? How will the oil delivery man deliver the heating oil? How will the electric company read the meter? Stuff like that."
The Young One made the classic teen face and sighed deeply. Her breath plumed in front of her. She took the crappy shovel and began digging out the back of the car.
Prissy came to the front door with shovels and a broom. I waded up the front walk and she handed them to me.
"I'll put my boots on and come out and help you."
"No, that's ok. We got it covered." The last thing I would need would be for Prissy to have a heart attack while shoveling her stairs. I patted my coat pocket to make sure I had my cell phone with me.
"I don't need the whole front walk shoveled," she said. "Just a path so I can get to the car."
A few minutes later, Prissy came out dressed in her coat, boots, hat and gloves.
"Here, let me help you."
"No! Get in the house!"
"Young One, brush the snow off the car this way." Prissy made motions with her mittened hands and started down the stairs.
"Will you get in the house! Go make me a cup of tea!"
Prissy took another step and started to open her mouth.
"Get in the @%$@# house before you slip and fall and break a hip." I played the trump card. "Go put the kettle on, I want a cup of tea."
Prissy mumbled something and went into the house.
The Young One snickered. "Dude," she called to me. "She just wants to help."
"I know, but the last thing we need is her telling us how to shovel or having to call 9-1-1 to have someone come and pick her butt out of the snow. Besides, if she was able to do this, she could have come out earlier in the day and done this instead of waiting until it was dark. Old people," I grumbled.
The Young One regarded me for a minute and nodded sagely.