Not Funny Until Later

Sam started dancing when
she was three.

 My husband and I planned to travel to Bowling Green on Saturday to see our daughter, Sam, perform in a dance concert. During the day, we got about two inches of blowing snow. He decided we should drive my car to the performance. I warned my husband not to open the driver’s side door because it wouldn't shut if it got too cold out. He looked at me like I was nuts misinformed. I had actually told him about the door several weeks ago but since we hadn’t had much icy weather, it hadn’t been a problem. By the time we arrived in BG, the wind chill had dipped into the teens. Walking through the parking lot and up the stairs of Kobacker Hall brought back memories of trudging across that flat open campus, in the whipping wind, cutting through buildings along the way to warm up.  After the concert, we planned to take my daughter and her friend back to the dorm. I told the girls that they had to climb in through the passenger side back door because there was something wrong with the other door. My husband decided he should warm up the car and bring it closer to the entrance so the girls could hop in the back.

While waiting for the car, I enjoyed listening to my daughter chatter with the other dancers. My husband texted that the car was ready and we headed out. And there he stood, in the blowing snow, slamming the back door over and over, trying to get it to close. He looked at me, mouth agape. I looked at him and shook my head. I told Sam to try to hold the door shut from the inside as we drove back to the dorm. The girls thought the whole situation was wildly comical. I did not. After dropping Sam off, we found a car wash, warmed up the door, and got the darn thing shut. About halfway home, it all seemed a lot funnier.