The Gnarly Dude Rule

My eyes popped open at 5:00 AM this morning.  There were options and chores to do, but none of them would have been affected had I rolled over and gone back to sleep for another couple of hours.  I tried, but the cats, the dog and my 58 year old bio-rhythms all conspired to make sure my feet hit the floor by 5:15AM. 

Just to show I am still in control, I sat at the computer for two cups of coffee and surfed all the Pats/Jets Playoff articles I could find on the internets.  It's 7:30 AM now, and the time to step up and decide the direction of my day is upon me.



Do I fix the snow blower?

OR

Do I go for a ride with the boys?

Hey, both of them are hard to resist.  I mean, changing an impeller belt on an Ariens Snow blower has to to rank right up there with riding in the freezing cold with 5 or 6 other whacked humanoids.  And both activities bring with them subtle and not so subtle pressures to swing in one direction or the other.

Recently embedded memories of having to move tons of snow by hand remind me that fixing the snow blower sooner than later might be in my back's best interest. 

But then there is the Gnarly Dude rule.  The dudes will give me shit if I do not ride.  It matters not that I have a good excuse to skip the ride.  The Gnarly Dude Rule dictates that when faced with the opportunity to ride with your buds or do anything that resembles yardwork, housework, or stroking the ego of that significant other, the ride always wins.  Or you better be ready for some serious teasing the next time you show your face at a ride.

"Dude, momma finally let you out to play?"

"Who's this clown?  Anyone know this guy?"

And so it will go.  Do I face future humiliation or do I man up and spend fifteen minutes dressing for 15'F temps? 

And what about the snow blower?  Well, the snow blower won't be any broker if I fix it this morning or tomorrow?  Right?

Later......I have to go find my riding gloves.