It was a dark and stormy night…

The snowdrift across the highway was humongous. And my trusty old car was firmly embedded in the middle of it. It just wasn’t budging. Neither was I.

I was wearing a tuxedo – the only time I had rented one since my high school grad – and I had dress shoes on my feet. I had a no winter coat, boots, gloves or hat, the latter being a winter necessity for a bald man. Oh, and did I mention it was 3 a.m.? Yup.

A lively night celebrating business and community ending in a total shipshow.

The forecast had called for a few flurries, not Snowmageddon. I was woefully unprepared, failing to take the necessary precautions and underestimating winter. Now I was paying the price.

I put the car in neutral, got out, slid to the back bumper, and tried to push myself out. The car was stuck solid. The harder I pushed, the more my shoes slipped. I soon found myself lying in the highway, exposing a rented tux to the elements and likely road salt, spread by the highways crew before the snow got heavy. Sigh.

I lay there for a second, wondering about the meaning of it all, kicking myself for being such a knob.

Every second seemed like an eternity. The howling wind. The blowing snow. The smell of burning tires.

Back in the car, I cranked the music to drown it all out. There was little else I could do. I wasn’t afraid or feeling any danger, but I was anxious for a resolution and also really curious how I was going to get out of it.

After 30 minutes or so, I spotted car lights in the rear-view mirror. A vehicle was bobbing its way through the snow toward me. As it got closer, it became obvious it was a cab. I also realized if the driver slowed to help me, they’d likely get stuck too.

I was prepared for the taxi to plow past me, but, unselfishly, the cabbie stopped. He and his fare got out and, with determination, pushed me through the snow bank. I was very thankful, and thrilled that they didn’t get stuck too.

It took me another 30 minutes to get home before I got stuck again in my driveway. I left the car there for the night and went to bed.

This was 15 or so years ago. I wrote a column about what happened.

Mom, who lived eight hours away, read the piece, printed it off, and sent it to me with a new, prepaid cellphone – the first mobile I ever owned.

On the printed column she wrote: “I never want to read something like this again.”

I’m retelling the story today because it’s a good reminder. December is here and wintry weather will follow. Prepare for it, and don’t take any foolish risks.

I really don’t want you to get my drift.