For two days I have been driving blind.
Okay. Not like Helen Keller on the freeway. I don't drive on the freeway, silly! No, I have been driving blind, like when I turn to look out the side window and there's a smashed bug right in the middle where my eyes want to look through.
It's not so much a smashed bug as a smear with a wing clinging. I suppose it flew into me as I was turning. Or maybe it was sitting there when I put my window down at a drive-thru visit. In any case, there are bits of buggy goo in the way of my peepers.
Today I needed to stop for gas on the way home. So on the way to school, I told The Pony, "Remind me to get that scrubber thing at Casey's when we stop for gas, and I'll get that bug off the window." He agreed. To remind me, of course. C'mon. You didn't think he was going to volunteer to get out and scrub my window, did you? That would come very close to helping people. And we know The Pony doesn't really care about that.
Just before we left Newmentia, a downpour ensued. I stalled a little bit before going out, frittering away time running copies for practice on the upcoming EOC test, and putting in tomorrow's assignment, and writing out two weeks of lesson plans, making plans and answer keys for my sub on Thursday, and figuring out which on the five lists of students testing and field-tripping would be missing from my classes the rest of the week. When we got outside in the residual sprinkle, and I climbed into T-Hoe, I said, "I can't believe we had that downpour, and STILL the bug didn't wash off my window."
So I get to Casey's, and have to go around the pumps to the other side, because there is only ONE car there at the four pumps, but it's a ridiculously tiny sprig of a car, the finger monkey (Google it!) of the automobile world, and it's taking up the whole middle between two pumps for some egotistical reason of the driver. Who then has the gall to drive off as soon as I round the pumps with T-Hoe's steering belts screaming like that girl on the Ohio Players' "Love Rollercoaster."
When I got situated, I told The Pony, "Great. Now that scrubber is on the other side, and I'll have to go around."
To which he replied, "I was GOING to remind you, but you couldn't wait." Yeah. He's a regular Mother Teresa lately.
I shoved the nozzle into T-Hoe so he could guzzle some $2.18 per gallon black gold. Then I went around a big metal pole to get the scrubber. Okay. That would be like exercise. I contorted myself so I could reach it with my face pressed up against the pole, grabbing it blindly. Like Helen Keller getting a scrubber for the window on her car that she didn't drive on the freeway.
I used the edge to scrub at my dead bug. Which wouldn't come off! I tried again. I used my finger. Nothing. I opened the door and lightly rubbed at it with the rubber scrubber. VOILA! No more bug guts! How that monster killed itself on the INSIDE of my window is beyoooooond me.
As if that wasn't embarrassment enough, The Pony snorting in derision behind the tinted glass before I made him go in and pay, a total stranger from the area of the air hose approached me. "Ma'am? Are you through with this scrubber?"
"Yes. I'm done. You can use it."
WHEN have you ever been at a gas pump and somebody wanted to use the scrubber in your hand? NEVER, I assume.
Just another day in the top-rated sitcom that is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's life.