Freakishly Strong

Last week, The Daughter and I were on our way home when the drizzle we were enjoying turned to plain ol' rain.  I flipped on the windshield wipers and after about three swipes we had a couple of problems.


The first problem was that the rain got harder.  It wasn't raining cats and dogs quite yet, but it was sprinkling kittens and puppies!

The second was that with a sudden gust of wind, the passenger's side wiper flipped out.  Literally - not just going all postal because someone in the family hadn't flushed the toilet AGAIN even though Momma had told them to flush only a bazillion times!

Quickly, I turned the wipers off because I didn't want them or my windshield to be damaged.  The light changed and I turned the wipers back on at which time, the passenger-side wiper flipped again!  I turned off the wipers and at the next intersection, I turned the corner and pulled into a parking lot.  (I was not, however, in a parking space because it's hard enough to drive while looking between rain drops and drips, muchless pull directly between two white lines!

"I'll get it, Momma!"  Daughter 1 piped up, eager to help.  Or completely lacking faith in her momma to fix the situation.  (My money's on option 2.)

"No, honey," I responded as I unbuckled my belt.  "I can get it.  Thanks, though!"  And I hopped out, wrestled with the wipers - which Daughter 2 had helpful turned on high to clear the windshielf so she could see me, flipped the wiper, slipped on the white paint in the parking lot, and returned to the car only about 80% soaking wet.  I pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the main road.

It was at this point that Daughter 1 said, "Momma! It's raining. Turn on the wipers!" (I wonder why she has no faith in my abilities...)

With just a single flip of the wipers, the passenger side wiper flipped itself right on out again.  With a giant sigh, I turned at the next intersection and pulled into a driveway.  Before I could even choke back a shivery sob from my still-drenched body, Daughter 1, hopped out of the minivan sounding very much like a 42-year-old man saying, "I got this one for ya, Hon."

Hon?

The problem with this windshield wiper
is that it's a wiper!

I leaned my head against my headrest just as Daughter 1 jumped back in the minivan. "Here's your problem!" she said proudly as she handed me the actual windshield wiper!  "Yep," she said continuing to act much older and much more mechanic-y than she really is, "This little sucker won't be giving you any more problems!"

We drove home very, very slowly, taking back roads so as to avoid major traffic, since I essentially couldn't see any traffic without a clean windshield!  When we got home, The Dad was already in our warm and dry house, watching Sportscenter and checking Facebook.  Daughter 1 walked right up to him and said, "This here," shoving the wiper in his face, "is Momma's problem."

"And this," I said, planting Daughter 1 squarly in front of her daddy, rain still dripping from my hair, "Is your problem."

The wiper was fixed by the next morning.