At the grocery store the other day I was in dire need of some windshield washer fluid, and the only kind they had said it was ‘scented’. I wasn’t really sure how much you would be able to smell something that’s sprayed on the outside of the car, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. Much to my amazement, I could actually smell the scent of the fluid after I used it the first time. It was sort of nice.
Fast forward to about a month later, with the family in the car on the way home from dinner. After hearing many large insects splatting on my windshield (you know it’s spring in the South), and having just had my car washed that day, I suggested to the husband that he spray some cleaner on it. This is the conversation that followed:
This is the time of year I begin to despise weather reporters. All I want to hear when I watch the forecast is “Sunny, with a high of 69”, or something along those lines. But what I get instead is “Freezing rain and snow, high 38.” That’s when I growl and turn off the TV.
I know it’s not their fault, and it’s nothing personal, but who else can I take my frustrations out on? I’ve had enough of putting on coats and sweaters and socks – oh, the endless socks I have to wash and sort in the winter!
When I was growing up, my family lived beside my grandparents. I had an aunt and uncle that lived about two hours away in the country. I remember that whenever there was a big snow, though, they were always at our Grandma’s. I really didn’t think about it much at the time, my cousins and I were having too much fun playing and sledding and being out of school. But when I got older I realized that they must have heard the forecast and started frantically packing everyone in the car to head to Grandma’s house so they wouldn’t be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no power, no neighbors, and worse yet, no one to play with in the snow.