I am always woefully unprepared for weather. It rains and I’ve forgotten my umbrella at home. Summer comes and I’ve misplaced all my short-sleeve shirts. Winter blows around and I find I need to replace all of my sweaters. So, you can imagine, last weekend’s snow storm caught me a bit off guard.

Meteorologists predicted it would be as bad as the 2002 ice storm, which I found alarming. I’d lived through that experience once and had no desire to repeat it. The 2002 storm is the reason I can say I’ve been to school on a Saturday. It was the reason my parents decided that a gas fireplace would be a good investment. I’d done my time being cold and miserable, without power and practically sealed inside my house. “Not again,” I thought.

So I made preparations. I bought grocery essentials: sandwich items, canned soup and a bar of chocolate. I arranged a warm place to stay in case the power went out. My roommate made a trip home to borrow a portable stove so we could heat our cans of soup.

But I did neglect some things.

I did have a coat, I’m proud to say. I had a coat — singular. Every other heavy coat I have needs to be dry cleaned, which doesn’t bode well for me now that temperatures are warmer than freezing but still a little too chilly for my taste. I misplaced my snow boots (the ones with good grip), and had to slip-slide my way into work on Friday.

I did not have a hat or a pair of gloves. I don’t even own a pair of mittens. Gloves and mittens aren’t something you think about as a wardrobe essential during warmer months, but let me tell you, I missed them when I had to scrape snow off my car Friday morning. Prying blocks of snow and ice from a windshield makes your hands go numb more quickly than you can imagine. A quick fix, once I got home and could make a hot cup of tea — but my fingers stung the whole drive back.

The wind kept blowing the hood off my coat, so to compensate for the lack of a hat, I hunched over and pulled my shoulders up, trying to keep my ears warm. You don’t know true humility until you’ve spent an entire weekend imitating a turtle.

I did have a scarf, but I did not have a snow shovel or a bag of rock salt. Which means that when I decided to venture out Saturday morning, I got a good look at what happens when you decide to park your car on a slick sheet of ice. The wheels just spin and spin and spin. But I did need to go out. In my pre-snow grocery shopping I’d neglected a winter-weather essential: milk. So my roommate cranked the car and turned the wheel, trying to catch the tires on snow instead of ice, and I braced myself against the curb and pushed the car.

Do not try this at home. Because if you do, and you, like me, are a poor judge of the slickness of ice and exactly how much traction your shoes get, you’ll slip and fall. Thankfully the car had good brakes, and eventually we freed it from the ice. Driving back home, the car was parked in a much sunnier, snow-free area. But I have two aching, vividly purple knees to show for it.

And I did find my boots — just in time for the melt.