It had to happen sooner or later, right? Last night, due to full buses, full trains, and lots of meandering stops, I missed the bus that is the last leg of my journey homeward. Sighing and turning up the collar of my coat, wrapping my scarf securely around my neck and pulling on my gloves, I started the long, three mile trudge home.

(Okay, three miles isn't that long. During the day, or on well-lit streets with wide, clean sidewalks, it's nothing.)

"Were there no other buses," you ask.

Yes, of course, in 30 minutes, but there was a bitter wind blowing and I thought that, all else being equal, I'd be better off moving than standing like a human popsicle at the bus stop. I wasn't the only one who felt that way. Two other mass-transit passengers turned up their own collars and joined me on the trek. Although, due to some odd protocol I'm unacquainted with, it seemed to be necessary for us all to pretend we couldn't see each other.

Anyhow, they gradually wandered off into side roads, and I was alone, except for the endless streams of cars flashing by.

Had it not been dark and cold, it might have been quite a pleasant walk. As it was, the treacherous sidewalks (courtesy of those businesses and householders who couldn't be bothered to clean the snow off their property two weeks ago, the residue of which is now compacted with dirt and gravel into a sort of min-glacial ledge) and the roar of the traffic coming up behind me (making me remember all of those, "pedestrian hit by a car" stories I've read" combined to make the whole experience less than idyllic.

(Although I did get to walk by the fire station and admire the little holly wreaths the firemen had hung from the grilles of their trucks.)

I didn't walk that far. A mile, maybe a little more. I stopped at the grocery store, dialed up the R.C. on my phone, and demanded that she pull herself together and come and get me.

My dedication to conserving fossil fuels goes only so far.