So summer’s in town. Or at least it was for a day. Since rays of sunshine make me utterly happy, I felt like doing something heroic. Like washing my car. Yes, it’s a true personal victory whenever I wash my car. I honestly never understood why some people spend so much time and money on their car.
For me, it just needs to be a safe ride and get me from A to B. Ok it’s nice to have airco and I don’t mind having leather seats either (purely for the sake of maintenance reasons) and given my lack of orientation skills, GPS is really a life saver. I however refuse to spend a single penny on a heated steering wheel (what?!), an integrated freezer (double what?!) and 21″ rims (dude, I’m not 50 cent, ok).
I also refuse to pay for a car wash. It’s only when people start looking at me with raised eyebrows when I drive by, that every other month (fine, every 6 months) I cave and drive my car to the nearest car wash for a good old fashioned clean. Most of the time my car is so dirty that I have to go a second time around to have all the yukkieness washed off… Beauty is on the inside, not on the outside I always say. Unfortunately that one doesn’t fly either, given the fact that my car’s most of the time a wardrobe on wheels where long forgotten tickets and receipts start their second life.
This time I decided to wash the bloody thing myself. And how I washed. Those bikini chicks you see on tv had nothing on me. Ok minus the erotic touch, but triple the effectiveness. Burst your bubble their, didn’t I?
Nearly an hour later (in the end I wasn’t as effictive as I thought I was), the car was all clean and sparkly. Filled with pride, I parked my car right in the middle of our drive way and was truly tempted to take a picture and post it on Facebook. Didn’t do it, but I did secretly tap myself on the shoulder and went inside.
The next morning, I woke up, still satisfied from the serious cleaning I did the day before. Looked out the window and all I could see was rain, rain, rain, and yes, bird poo on my car. Not one tiny, little poo, no, a whole army of poo. I stepped into my once again filthy bat mobile and drove off. Some time later I arrived at work and parked right next to a spick and span clean BMW, you know the big, expensive kind. When a passer-by informed me with a giggle that I could really use a car wash, I was about to punch him. In the face.
I should’ve taken a picture of my clean, dream machine when I had the chance, I knew it.
Inner thought: I will from now on make it my personal mission to make all cars equally dirty. Starting with that damn BMW.