So, I’ve always hated snow. From the first time I touched it until I woke up this morning and saw it glistening on the black tree branches outside my window.

I stayed inside all day . . . occasionally glaring out the window at the slowly melting snow. My “White Valentine’s Day” has not been the greatest, besides the frozenness of it all, my would be Valentine is otherwise indisposed on this fine day.

About six o’clock, finally my boredom over came my anti-snow sentiments and I went out to start my car. I looked at the snow still piled on the windshield. I considered my options in removing it. I was against touching it if at all possible. I decided to see if my windshield wipers were powerful enough to push all that nasty wet snow off the windshield, thusly saving me from coming in direct contact with the stuff.

It seemed a brilliant idea, and as I turned the wipers on, I was delighted to see that it would work! Alas, as in the movies, when everything slows down just before tragedy strikes—I saw it happening, but I was frozen, I couldn’t react fast enough . . .

I had turned the wipers on before I closed the car door—all the snow that had been piled on the windshield, was suddenly wiped right off the glass and into my car, and on to my foot and all over my power windows and locks door panel . . . Just another one of my brilliant moments.