I’m pretty paranoid when it comes to ice.

Not driving on it.

WALKING on it.

I’m not known for being a graceful person. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tripped or fallen with no easily identifiable cause.

I once went airborne on Beale Street, prompting a co-worker to holler, “What are you doing?!” as he tried to pull me off the sidewalk. Yes, I was stone-cold sober. No, there didn’t appear to be anything in my path that would have caused such a stumble.

A few years ago, worried that my elderly dog wouldn’t be able to navigate the ice on our deck, I went outside with her to help her down the stairs from our deck. She did just fine, thankyouverymuch.

I, on the other hand, shot across the deck on my stomach.

I managed to roll myself over, but couldn’t get up due to a lack of any sort of dry surface that would offer traction.

I yelled several times for Hubs, and, finally, he materialized in the doorway.

And laughed his ass off.

Hubs reached out, pulled me to the door, and hoisted me to a standing position. Quite a feat, given that the man was in hysterics.

So yeah, all this snow and ice makes me, well … antsy.

But if you were the girl who once injured a shoulder after tripping on a freaking stepping stone, you’d be just as leery, I promise.