So, one of my readers shared on Saturday that he was snowed in up in Virginia. I said as long as he had food, water, electricity and an internet connection he was all good. One problem, he also had Friday night's one night stand snowed in with him. Ruh-roh. Monday afternoon, I got the full story and I felt it worthy to be called a BougieTale:
Our reader codenamed "U Don't Know Me" (we'll call him UDK) headed out into DMV nightlife and met an attractive female. Now either she fell for his lines or he fell for hers, maybe they both recognized what the other wanted, who knows. Either way, these two returned to UDK's home in a new subdivision in the VA for some adult aerobic activity. After repeated aerobic exertions, the duo fell asleep. UDK awoke to a disturbing sight. A pillowful of hair… no head attached. Her semi-bald head was somewhere near his feet. Not knowing what to make of this, he started to rise. She stirred and smiled at him, "Hey Derek, breakfast?" He noticed that her lengthy lashes from the night before were now stuck to her forehead and cheek. Again - disturbing.
His name was not Derek but if breakfast was what it took to get her moving on down the road, he was down. "Sure, eggs okay?" He hopped up, pulled on some sweats and headed downstairs. As he hit the bottom step he heard her say, "Oh, my hair came off!" Yeah it sure did. No harm, no foul. When you pick up someone at a dimly lit club after midnight, these are the chances you take. It wasn't until he stood in the kitchen whisking eggs that he noticed. It was deadly quiet outside. Granted, brand new condo complex, not a lot of folks yet but he could usually hear people on the main road beginning those Saturday errands. He flipped on the TV and saw the words "Winter Blizzard" flashing across the bottom of the screen. Before the weatherman would finish saying "Many roads simply impassable…" he looked out the window. And saw nothing but white for as far as his eyes could see.
Pulling on a coat and shoes he opened his condo door, the concrete landing and stairs were caked over and as he quickly found out as he landed on his ass, under that snow was ice. "John, are we snowed in?" He heard a voice behind him ask. His name wasn't John either but at this point he knew it didn't matter. "Just until the sand trucks come through, let's get some breakfast." To say that the pick-up chick did not look as delectable in the harsh light of day was unfair. After all, her club makeup was smudgy, her wig was crooked and the outfit that was sexy at 2:00a.m. suffered in sobriety tilting towards skanky. No matter, breakfast, rock salt, sand, a 30 minute drive and he'd never see her again. At least that was UDK's prayer.
His prayer was not answered. In condensed format, for the next 26 hours he made 17 frantic calls to city, county, property manager workers begging (pleading) for someone (anyone) to assist him in forklifting his one night stand (who swore her name was Sugar) out of his domicile. At one point, he attempted to purchase a snow-plow from a construction company. They were happy to sell it to him but it wouldn't be delivered until 3-days later.
He attempted to get to his car and get it going. His cute sportscar (which he referred to as a "ho-getter) was not built to climb ice-covered slopes. His new complex was built in a valley-type location (master plan FAIL) so NO one without a serious four-wheel drive, snow chains and a ton of de-icer was making it out.
During their time together, UDK discovered that Sugar was a weeper (cried at the drop of a hat) with a tiny bladder and the inability to recall anything close to his name. She was also a talker, did not appreciate football and felt comfortable enough to help herself to his food and drink at regular intervals. At first light, UDK placed Sugar on a homemade sled fashioned by himself and his neighbor. They drug Sugar through 75 yards of frosty snowbanks to the main road where her step-dad's work friend scooped her up in a Hummer and took her away... never to be heard from again (he hopes.)