Last week, after dropping Natalie off at school, my windshield wiper blade flew off my car while I was driving down 495. Of course, this happened on the driver's side while it was wintry mixing. Once I arrived home, I looked at the the other blade to see if there was some way that I could switch the passenger side over, at least until Dan arrived home and could fix it properly. Then, when placing, which probably isn't the right word, the wiper arm down on my windshield, I cracked the glass.
Er.
Today, I managed to close my fingers in the car door, from the inside of the car, at the top of the window. Try and figure out how I managed that. I had to reach over myself to open the door to release my fingers. Dan almost choked on his lunch because he was laughing so hard at me.
So either the product that I now have to use on my super short hair is seeping through my skull and into my brain, or much like Sampson, Michael Landon and Kevin Sorbo, my strength and common sense was attached to all that hair that has been swept away to Fantastic Sam's garbage.
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