By Ken Carpenter
January 8, 2007
Everybody from my generation knows what you’re talking about when you mention “Doing the Clampett shuffle.”
Jed Clampett was the patriarch of The Beverly Hillbillies TV series from the 1960’s. He was a dancing fool hick who would burst in to a soft-shoe at the drop of a hog jowl.
This time of year always reminds me of old Jed, and as a matter of fact, I just did a reasonably decent imitation of him. Actually, I did two within ten minutes, fighting desperately to keep from busting my fear-stricken rump on the icy downtown sidewalk.
Ice is not kind to me. I am on the clumsy side, anyway, leaning toward tripping over curbs rather than stepping over them. The last year I played softball; my mostly teenage teammates would caution me to watch out for the one-inch dirt clods so I wouldn’t pitch over on my face. I was a source of great amusement to them.
Even though the pesky dirt clods are mostly hidden during the winter months, it is still not my favorite season for taking a casual stroll. While my behind has developed a comfortable built-in pillow in it, it still has an aversion to hard ice. I have decided that people do not just build up winter flab as insulation from the cold, but as padding to cushion their tumbles.
The worst thing about falling on the ice isn’t always the hitting part. When you start to slip, your whole body goes into panic mode, shuffling, twisting, turning and, yes, dancing to avoid making a spectacle of yourself by biting it. Little do you realize, the spectacle was already provided by your attempts to prevent taking a spill.
Most of the time, if you start to go, just go! It won’t hurt near as bad as the pulled groin you will get trying not to fall. And, while it may not be common knowledge, you have two groins to pull! A tiny bruise on the rear cheek is no comparison, and if you are lucky, you can show it off to somebody. If you are really lucky, someone may massage it for you.
Of course, a cracked crazy bone, sprained wrist or busted noggin are no fun at all. That is why most smart folks bundle up like a triple wrapped mummy when it gets icy. It is nice to be warm, but it is even nicer to have extra padding when you take your inevitable fall.
Plus, if you are covered up enough, people may not recognize you after you dance furiously, curse horrifically, fall down clumsily, and whine miserably from the pain and humiliation. Ski masks are a good thing. Just don’t wear one into a bank.