Slush-induced Tantrum

I came undone this afternoon; for those of you who don't know me well, it's something I do cada vez en cuando.

My day had ominous beginnings. This morning, bright and early, I awoke to the mellifluous sprinkly sounds of freezing rain. Seems like we're experiencing the beginnings of a precipitous winter season here in Rhode Island. I'm sick of it already.

I took my chicken out of the fridge to salt it in preparation for roasting it tonight, for the Dinnerman's return from a lovely weekend in New Jersey. It stunk to high heaven; clearly it was spoiled, even though the sticker had tomorrow's date on it.
Ok, thought I, I have the whole day with nothing pressing to do, so I will exchange my rotten chicken!
It appeared to be raining at that point, not sleeting or snowing. No problem!

Emerging from my warm, dry condo, I took note that the parking lot had not been plowed. It was 1pm. Remind me again - where do our condo fees go?

I backed the car out of its spot, then cleaned it off while it heated up, per the usual routine.
I got back in, threw it in reverse, and...uh oh!

No go. I was spinning my wheels.

Long story short, I found a shovel and spent the better part of an hour throwing a fullblown tantrum in the parking lot - while shoveling heavy slush, cursing the day I was born, and cursing New England weather and the northeast in general.
I do believe I provided entertainment for all the people who live in my building as they were coming and going effortlessly in their SUVs. They had the pleasure of watching a crazy nutcase with snot running down her face hack away at the ice, bitching, moaning, hyperventilating, screaming and throwing things.

I did get the car back into its spot, but I abandoned my chicken-exchange mission. I retreated into my humble abode, not to emerge for the rest of the day.

Then I baked a cake and drank a Manhattan.
Then the Dinnerman walked through the door.

I feel better now.