I thought of this post last night while I was at the rink and dug it out again today for shits and giggles. My stick figure drawings are still no fancy blowfish, but I love them anyway.
I have a love-hate relationship with the Zamboni at my ice rink. Or any ice rink, really.
On the one hand, public skating sessions always leave the ice horribly chewed up within minutes, as people who have no idea what they’re doing scratch and scrape their blades along torturously while hotshot hockey kids duck around them at Mach speeds and deliberately mark up every last pristine inch they can find by practicing sudden stops and irritating passers-by with showers of snow.
On the other hand, I instinctively consider anything that makes me get off the ice to be my natural enemy. Even if I was literally thirty seconds away from leaving on my own, how DARE you suggest I go sit down?!
You know how when people experience the loss of a loved one, they go through the five stages of grief?
That’s me every time that Zamboni bullies me…
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