I flipped on the outside light as I was leaving for work early one morning. It was about 6 a.m., and it was the dead of winter. Cold and dark -- two of my leastfavorite things.

I heard a sharp “pop” and realized the porch lightbulb had blown. It always seems to happen at the most inopportune times (as if there were a good time).

Instead of taking the extra five minutes to go back inside, turn on all the lights, make my way to the cabinet in the laundry room where I stored extra bulbs, try to calm the dogs and give them another cookie for having the audacity to enter the house so soon after leaving, I decided the heck with it. I could get to the car without a light.

Well, that was a mistake -- the first of many I was to make that morning. The driveway was slick, and as I tried, with keys in hand, to navigate my way down the icy path to unlock the car door, my hand came up when I lost my footing. I hit my glasses, and they launched themselves to parts unknown.

Now, I had no porch light to turn on, and my street had no street lights. I was in a pickle.

Most of us who wear glasses do so because we can’t see a blasted thing without them. I’m no exception -- especially when it’s dark. I can barely make out shadows with my glasses on.

I was afraid to move because I didn’t want to step on my specs in my panicked state. If I broke them, that would be all she wrote. I didn’t have a spare pair.

Then I realized I had dropped my keys, too. So even if I found my glasses I couldn’t get into the house to clean them off nor could I get into the car to warm myself up.

I decided to slide my feet across the driveway, moving in a side-to-side pattern. That way, if my toe hit something, at least I wouldn’t step down on it.

Well, that worked for a minute. When my foot connected with what I hoped was my glasses, I slipped on a patch of ice and the glasses -- or it could have been my keys; I couldn’t see a blasted thing -- flipped up in the air, and off they went again. It was as if they were teasing me. But I wasn’t amused.

I thought about waiting another hour for daylight to come, but I knew by then I would be a popsicle of my former self.

So I did what any intelligent, self-respecting woman would do. I sat down and cried. Like a baby. Until the seat of my pants got cold and wet. Then I stood back up and brushed myself off. And cried some more.

With that out of the way, I got down on my hands and knees and started at the top of the driveway, headed for the bottom, working my way around the car trying to feel for my glasses.

First, I hit on my keys. Then I got the brilliant idea to turn on my car’s headlights to light the way. And guess what? If you said “the car wouldn’t start,” you would be wrong. It started.

But when I got out of the car to resume the search for my specs, I did the unthinkable. I didn’t know it until I heard the horrible sound of grinding metal. Yep, I stepped on my glasses.

They were splayed out like a cat that didn’t land on all fours.

After picking up my glasses, I realized only one of the earpieces was broken off. The lenses, though probably scratched, were not broken. I knew I could make it to my office by holding my glasses on with one hand.

And it was dark; no one would see me. Or so I thought, until I saw the flashing lights of a police car behind me. My morning just kept getting better and better.

My nose was running, my glasses were being held up with one hand, my sweater was dirty, and the seat of my pants was soaked. And I did what any selfrespecting, intelligent woman would do. I began to cry.

By the time the officer got to my car, I was a blubbering wreck. Seeing me in my disheveled state, I guess he didn’t know what to do either.

He had stopped me to relay that I had a flickering tail light and that I should see about getting it fixed.

Before I knew it, I spilled all the ugly details of my dreadful morning.

I bet (after he followed me to work to make sure I could drive in a straight pattern) he returned to the police department and had a great laugh with his buddies. I don’t blame him. Looking back at it makes me laugh, too. To this day I wonder why he didn’t test my sobriety that morning.

Since then, I keep a spare pair of glasses in my car, my best friend has an extra house key, and I store a small penlight in my glove compartment.

Most importantly, when it’s icy outside, I don’t dare go to my car without a light on. In fact, I try not to go outside at all when the weather is bad. You never can tell what’s going to happen, or who you’re going to run into when it does happen. And, inevitably, it does. Believe me.

On second thought, I believe I will just stay in bed until the days when it’s warmer and lighter outside.

Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record.