Honey, Plug Your Ears

If the last snow storm proved anything, it's that I need new windshield wipers. I can't deny that wide arc of uncleared dirt and sludge on my windshield any longer. But I DON'T WANT to put on new windshield wipers.

Why?

Because they're tricky.

There, I've said it. I hate to admit it, but I dread installing new wiper blades on my car. It's not that I can't do the installation myself, I can. It's just that it takes around twenty frustrating minutes to get the job done. And by frustrating, I mean frustrating. Just getting the hardware out of its plastic cocoon is a chore. It's like the plastic's an inch thick, and you need the Jaws of Life to set what's inside free.

Then you have to remove the old blades. Sure, that seems simple, but I can never remember what I'm supposed to pull, push or twist. I think these were designed by Ernő Rubik. And the whole time I'm trying to twist, push, and pull, I've got my stomach on the hood of the car and one leg in the air. I look like an idiot, which is what I am.

Ladies and gentlemen, my nemesis:

And you can forget the instructions. Just trying to read them stings my eyes. By figure five I have a headache.

Once I got so mad I threw everything into the neighbor's yard and seriously considered trading in my car for the same model but with newer wiper blades on it.

I know I don't have to do this myself. Some of the local parts stores will do the job for free if you buy the blades from them, and I went that route once about a decade ago. As the guy behind the counter was taking my money, he robotically asked if I wanted him to install the blades. When I said, "Ummm, sure," he looked at me with surprise and then pity. It took him all of 20 seconds to get them on my car. Never had I been so quickly emasculated.

Now I buck up and install wipers like a man, i.e., I get mad easily, and I swear a lot.

"Okay, Charlotte. Time for you to go inside. Dad's got work to do..."