It sounds like I have a kazoo stuck in my throat. If I breathe just right, I can almost play "O Come All Ye Faithful" through the phlegm and other build-up in my esophagus.
This is why:
We had six minutes. Six minutes to get to the Creamery before it closed. Six minutes to get to the Creamery in order to buy two gallons of milk and a half-gallon of ice cream. This was no drill. We had to do it. And we only had six minutes.
So we ran. Me in my jeans and button-up blouse, Sarah in her sweats and worn-out sneakers. Two and a half blocks in 40 degree weather, uphill. We made it just in time to hear the announcement that they were closing, but we still had time to "make our last selections" and check out. And we did.
Walking out of the sliding glass doors, we felt triumphant. Triumphant like soldiers who'd just survived a gruesome battle. We are more out of shape than we previously thought. Sarah's lungs hurt. My tongue felt like a stake was being driven through it and out the bottom of my mouth. Not a pleasant feeling, let me tell you. We walked home. I drank some milk. Sarah ate some ice cream. We conquered.