Nancy Drew and the Case of the Slippery Road

Hello, Black Ice, pleased to meet you.

I’ve heard an awful lot about you from friends, family and overly-concerned older people, so it truly is an honor to finally put a face with the name. To be honest I don’t even know if I would have noticed you here if it weren’t for your subtle demeanor. So smooth. So suave. Why, it’s no wonder you make such a lasting impression!

Anyway, here we are at this small social gathering. You, of course, are stealing the show. Some are turned away by your chilling ways (like the gentleman directly behind me…he spun out quite abruptly, I must say), but I cannot help but stay and relish in this experience. This emotional high that only a person such as yourself could so nonchalantly put on people.

Meeting you has surfaced a number of emotions. Fear. Anxiety. Excitement. And also one that I did not expect to feel – nostalgia.

You see, Mr. Ice, as I sit here, careening toward my doom, I am reminded of my childhood heroine, Miss Nancy Drew.

Nancy had a blue, 1950’s Mustang convertible, and it was a given that at least once per story she would find herself in a precarious predicament with the vehicle. (You were involved a few times, if I recall correctly). To master such an encounter, her skill always came down to one, fluid motion.

A motion of which I am now reminded. A motion that could, quite possibly, save my life and thwart your advances.

So here I am, Mr. Ice, emphatically pumping the brake. Just like Nancy Drew. Even though I know nothing about these cars with brakes that lock. And though I am quite bad at handling them.

I pump. And pump. And wonder if maybe I should have been an amateur detective.

Or at least the owner of a 1950’s Mustang convertible.