My name is Dani and I have a problem.
I like to kick cars.
Well, not cars exactly, but things on cars. What exactly do I mean? Let me explain.
Winter sucks. You know what the only good thing about winter is? Kicking cars. You know how snow gathers and clumps in the wheel wells of cars? That's what I am talking about. They must be kicked.
Seriously. They call my name. I love the satisfaction I get when I succeed in dislodging one and the thudding sound it makes when it falls to the ground. This may be the only thing I like about winter. Except maybe fleece.
My obsession with this kicking snow clumps is SO bad that I will kick other people's clumps as I stumble upon them. I try to do it when no one is looking for fear that someone will think that I am actually trying to kick their car and find retribution by performing a physical assault on me.
One time, I was so excited when we were stopped at a red light that I threatened to get out of our car to kick a nearby snow clump. B even egged me on. However, I truly did not feel like he had my back and would just laugh and drive away when the person confronted me. Husbands can be so mean.
Recently, this obsession took on a scarier angle as, in my enthusiasm to kick a snow clump off of a neighboring car, I lost my footing on a piece of ice and almost wiped out. It made me second guess my fun hobby. After all, hobbies shouldn't maim you, right?
The next day, though, I was back to kicking.
It is a problem.
I have to kick snow clumps on cars.