It took a huge amount of shame before I concluded it was time for my semi-annual car wash. I procrastinated proficiently, telling myself that this activity was a total waste of time due to the messy weather. A wind storm could stir up the dust to undo all my efforts.
However, my conscience started to bother me as I recalled my brother’s warning about the effect of grime on the car paint. I kept my eyes straight ahead as drivers’ critical glances made me want to hide the formerly green, now brownish-colored vehicle.
When I took my mud-mobile into the car wash, I stopped first at the free vacuums. The interior of my car needed a major housekeeping. Somehow the Kleenex box appeared a squished and twisted-up item totally devoid of tissues. I soon found a plethora of them in various stages of use, stuck here and there. I thought I recovered the majority of them under and around the front seats, until I moved to the back. There I discovered several hundred more crammed into the storage flap on the back of the front seat cover. Who had the cold, I wondered, and would I be catching it?
The vacuuming process consumed a full hour of heavy exercise. Stretch here, bend there, stand on your head! Our feet had tracked in a goodly portion of pine needles and weeds, adept at sticking into the floor material and resistant to being suctioned.
The footprints on the back of the driver’s seat showed my grandson’s penchant for the muddy weather. He also made his mark along with his elder brother with candy wrappers and actual bits of sweet remains in the seat cracks. I even found a left-over sack lunch and a crushed pop can. Can you believe it?
I dumped the remaining junk and drove over to the car wash, feeling like I’d already been through the wars. A smiling face popped up by my window trying to persuade me to purchase a year’s worth of semi-monthly washes for a real deal. He even offered to wash the underside of the car. As far as I’m concerned, why would anybody pay to have that done? Only an occasional bug might see it. His bright smile dimmed a bit as I requested the cheapest offer, thank you very much.
My tires hooked into the track on its way through a labyrinth of whirling thingamajigs striking the car’s messy sides. Splots of green, purple and pink goo rained on my windshields and a loud humming, swishing noise filled my ears. I imagined myself entering the belly of the whale with digestive juices flooding over me. After the attack of brushes and whirling things ended, a strong blast of air hit the wet car and dried it faster than a billion-watt hair dryer.
Now, out of the whale’s gaping jaws, onto the street, my car suddenly transformed into a new, smoother-driving vehicle. My guilt and shame disappeared as I proudly drove along in a former mud-mobile turned roadster, polished and sparkling. Who knows how long this feeling will last, but for a few brief moments, I felt like a revived woman in my spanking new vehicle. It’s all downhill until that future date six months from now when I head for the car wash again.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
