Driving home from coffee tonight was interesting. I turned off the radio to listen to the glorious sound of the mosquitoes hitting the windshield. It was as loud as driving through a hail storm. I loved it!
Each split-splat-splop was like a little burst of heaven in my blood. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and was bopping to the music of smooshed bugs. I had my groove on baby!
It wasn't even a mile before I had to use my wipers to scrape their gooey carcasses off the windshield, but I didn't mind. I had a full tank of wiper fluid.
But each mile there were more and more bugs to splat. I only had eleven miles to travel. I was doing OK. At one point I had pulled out of my lane to pass a guy going eighty, but changed my mind when I realized the bug traffic was thicker on the other side. I decided it was worth it to follow him at his grandpa speed, just to kill more bugs. Sweet Sweet Homicide!
I should have passed him.
About two miles from home I ran out of wiper fluid.
I could not see.
Mostly because I did not know I had run out of fluid, and used the wipers, which only coated my window in a thick screen of blood guts and wings. YAY! Murder is dirty work when you are not properly prepared!
I ended up driving about thirty, with my hazards on, looking out my side window to follow the line for the last ten thousand hours.
But look! I did good! Totally worth killing myself over!