I’ve had those vision impaired driving moments when I knew all was not right, but I drove anyway. I could think of many good reasons why it was okay: I wasn’t going far. I knew the neighborhood like the back of my hand. I’m in a hurry. It will get better.
In my case, it was that unexpected icy frost on my windshield in the wee hours of the morning. I hadn’t budgeted extra time in my morning commute to scrape my window and warm up my car for optimum visibility conditions. So, off I drove, cocking my neck to peer through the little cleared patch on my windshield, wipers on full speed, and washer fluid going great guns, the defroster blast in hopes that the warm air will warm the car and melt the ice quickly, my teeth chatter from the cold — it will get better, I will see more clearly, soon enough.