A tropical storm has been sitting off the coast near my house for about ten years now. Not really, but it probably seems like it to my dog. He hates rain pounding on the roof and thunder waking him up every morning. He will stand his ground with any man or beast flashing sharp teeth in a menacing snarl. That is to say, he is fairly tough until the beast or man offers up a tempting treat. No treat on Earth, however, would keep him from killing a tropical storm if he could.
I know how he feels. It’s not the storm that bothers me, I actually like it. It is the wipers on the car required while driving in a torrential downpour that has me gnashing my teeth. In particular, the windshield wiper pause feature on my truck. No number of trips to Starbucks for a coffee treat can placate me when my husband is driving and in control of the wipers. I would kill the inventor of intermittent wiper controls if I could.
So, we are on our way home from grocery shopping mecca, when the tropical storm rotated back into our path. At first, it was just a few huge drops of rain splatting the windshield. For most people, this would be the reason intermittent wipers were invented, not enough rain to warrant regular swipes, just enough to clear the window once every, oh say, 10 seconds. For my husband, it means no window wipers needed.
One block later we encounter the first heavy deluge, calmly my husband turns the dial to the first hash mark. This means we can see clearly once every 15 seconds. I begin to sweat. I say nothing. Two minutes pass and the heavy rain is akin to buckets of water thrown onto the window PLUS passing cars are throwing up wakes taller than the truck. My husband concedes two more clicks on the wiper dial. Probably a five-second delay, now I’m thinking what’s the point? Just put it on full blast, we still won’t be able to see. My unspoken thought is proven by the trail of red taillights pulling to the side of the road.
Gripping my arm rest, ” Hey hon, you know our wipers can go much faster? I can’t see a thing.”
He replies, “Who’s driving?”
I can think of no good answer because truthfully at this point I’m not sure what he is doing is called driving.
We made it home safely. My dog was so very happy to see me. We, my dog and I, snuggled on the couch the rest of the evening eating treats and glaring. I kept my glare on my husband. My dog watched the window. Our own tropical storm brewing. Thank God for treats or there might be some killing going on.
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