And so it begins, that dreaded time of year when everyone is supposed to be full of good cheer. HUMBUG. It the time of year when things start to fall apart and you wonder how you are going to be able to afford the repairs and still have money left over so your kids can open presents.

I am a Scrooge. I am proud of this and encourage others to deliver a poignant “Bah, Humbug” to any unsuspecting moron who wishes them a Merry Christmas. But that can be a diatribe for another day.

As I said, it has begun. Among the way-too-early Christmas music sneaking between songs on the radio, some nimrod cut between the 18-wheeler in front of me and my car. In the time-honored tradition of motorists, I blasted my horn and flashed my light in a useless gesture of frustration. In doing so, I activated the windshield wipers on the end of the turn signal / windshield wiper / bright-dim arm that hangs off the steering column. The wipers went up…and did not come back down. Following the blast of the car horn erupted a blast of expletives that I am not sure if the Terms of Use would allow me to convey.

Because of the time of year, it is dark when I pull into the driveway. The wipers are stuck, stuck in the up position and no amount of trickery is going to get them to go back to the down position.

If it is more than a blown fuse, I am now faced with the year-end expense of getting the wiper motor fixed on a car that is almost as old as the combined age of my three children. I already had a laundry list of things to fix on this $600 gem of a second car, and this just adds to it.

What a joyous time of year.