Some things are better left to a professional

Itís sad for me to admit my own shortcomings, but apparently I have many. There are some tasks that I may be able to perform, but Iíve decided are just not worth it.

In the last few months, Iíve come across several jobs Iím just not suited for. For example, Monday, after an hour-long battle with the fuel door on the side of my car, (they should really make those things heated so they donít freeze shut) I attempted to add windshield wiper fluid for the first time since my husband has been overseas (since last February). A seemingly simple task, and one Iíve performed countless times before (with other cars), the thought that this might be a difficult task didnít even enter my mind. After all, I grew up in Beaver Meadow. My dad taught me how to check the oil in my car and the tire pressure and all that stuff that I havenít done since leaving his house.

My little baby sat in his car seat, as I tried to locate my hood-releasey thing. I didnít realize until that moment that I had never before opened the hood on this particular vehicle. After several minutes, I was forced to turn the car back on to keep us warm, as I searched and searched to no avail for the stupid hood release button. On my old car it was bright yellow and in plain sight, but this car gave no hint as to where the button might be.

Twenty minutes later, after admitting defeat and searching through the manual, I found the little button labeled Ďhood release.í Of course since it was exactly the same color as the rest of the dash and was hidden on the under side of it, Iím taking no blame for that one.

I got out of the car and was almost instantly frozen in place. The wind was blowing at about a million miles an hour, but since I could no longer see out of my windshield, I attempted to add the wiper fluid anyway. It was with the bottle tipped and the wind blowing at hurricane category speeds that the fluid was whisked away from the spot it was supposed to be flowing into and instead blew in any other direction, most of it ending up in the general vicinity of my face. Another icy cold gust of wind blew up, and with wiper fluid burning my eyes and cold freezing my hands, I caught a glimpse of something flying toward my head. Yes, the wind had blown the hood off that little stick thatís supposed to hold it up, and it was flying back down toward my head. At the very last moment, I reached my freezing cold hand above my head and caught the hood before I was decapitated, which I surely would have been.

It was at that particular moment, with my hands frozen and covered in Windex and my life flashing before my eyes, that I decided I will never attempt this particular task again, at least not in the winter. I mean thatís what mechanics are for. It may sound silly and a little desperate, but I would rather have my mechanic laugh at me than face death by decapitation.

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