When I bought the Caravan just over two years ago, the windshield wipers didn’t make a lot of contact with the windshield.  Somehow I learned to live with their ill performance.  Today, those self same wipers, stepped over the line just a little bit further.  Not only did they work poorly, the rubber on them started to flap in the wind as I drove.  I decided that the time had come to upgrade.  I was pretty proud of myself as I independently navigated the automotive aisles of Walmart, found the “wiper handbook”, knew the make and year of my vehicle, and purchased the correct size wipers.  My pride diminished a bit when D-11 asked why I had just bought one wiper when the van needed two new ones.  Silly me for thinking these things were sold in pairs!  I’m sure a lot of people make the same mistake and do the round trip back to Walmart just like we did today.

D-11 studied the wiper packaging somewhere in that round trip experience and informed me that it was actually pretty easy to put new wipers on.  Foolishly, I believed him.  He managed to get the driver’s side wiper off in a pretty short amount of time and all was looking well.  How hard could it be to put on a new wiper, after all, the package even had a diagram on it.  D-11 soon grew tired of automotive work and handed the baton (which looked just like a new windshield wiper) to me. 

If I was living in a Harlequin romance book, my long hair would have floated in the breeze as I hopped on the hood of my Caravan, my flimsy blouse would have fallen off my shoulder and at the same time revealed some decent cleavage and the moment I broke out in a sweat over the installation of the wiper, some hunky guy would have sauntered up out of nowhere and offered to do the job for me.  The sun would have broken out through the clouds and glistened off his brawny muscles and all would have ended well with a sunset and a date for the morrow. 

Well, my life has yet to play out like I imagine those Harlequin romance books to be written.  My hair drove me bananas, I was bundled up to the gills in my winter coat and when I broke out into a sweat over the silly installation, the only thing that happened was some grunting and groaning on my part.  I think I tried positioning that wiper on every possible angle only to get more disgruntled as it wouldn’t “pop on”.  The hunky guy obviously missed his cue which obviously set the sun out of whack because it never did let out a ray to shine on anything.  As for all ending well and a date for the morrow, well, that’s part of dreamland too. 

So, I’m thinking up Plan B:  Wait for the neighbours to come home and borrow a hubby whom I am sure can “pop on” a wiper with the best of them.  There’s nothing like making the neighbours feel like they’re needed.  Somehow this distressed damsel finds a way but she still dreams it will be the Harlequin romance route one of these days!

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