The night of the blizzard I made a lot of mistakes. It was a Motzaei Shabbos, following two days of being cooped up with malcontent children and nothing but dreary winter out my window. I was due for some major retail therapy. So, after tucking in my precious little ones, I shrugged on my coat, stuffed my feet into boots and headed out the door, tiny sedan key swinging merrily from my pocket.
It was snowing and rear-wheel-drive sedans and snow like children and dry-clean-only do not go well together. I got in the car anyway and to assuage my guilt at my feelings of blissful happiness I turned on a Torah CD called “Clash of Civilizations ” about the possibility of nuclear war with Iran. Carefully maneuvering down the snow-dusted driveway I made a split-second decision to forgo my local outlet store in favor of the one in Watertown almost twenty minutes away.
As I got onto the highway I thought twice about the wisdom of traveling out of town when a huge storm was predicted and noted with slight alarm the massive snowplows rumbling on the side of the road placidly waiting for the storm to hit. I brushed my fear aside.
Pulling up in front of Marshall’s my favorite store in the universe I hurriedly made my way inside and immediately relaxed. Bargains were everywhere and the hunt was on. I was in heaven … until my cell phone rang.
“Uh Orli?” my husband’s anxious voice broke through my blissful state.
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