You know the lady that stands in the lanes of the carwash and when the attendant is done up selling you to a forty-dollar carwash she looks at your windscreen in hopes of sell you her chip repair services? And how she tries to hit on you?
No? Just me then.
I have very few obsessions. Other then, well a certain British Sci-fi show and Pumas and Apple products and the gym and…maybe… we should stop. The most unnecessary of my compulsive behavior would be my obsession of keeping my car clean. Really, really clean. This manifests in a car wash every four days. What? It’s dirty. Unclean.
This resulted in friends saying things like “you’re going to strip the wax if you wash that car too much.” Which led directly to me waxing my spoiled spoilered baby once a month. Thanks.
Mostly I can fight back and just go to the drive through bay and wash my silver saloon with the high-pressure wand. But, when it’s really dirty or I’ve had a bad day it goes to the fancy car wash. This is where I feel like a bad Dad If I just get the twelve dollar car wash, like the extra rinse and “clear coat” finish will stop evil from coming to the sports sedan. Oy vey iz mir, so I get the thirty-nine ninety nine dollar car wash so no one will judge me.
It was during one of these trips that I met my girlfriend, Dana. I complemented her on her Pumas; she sold me on rock-chip repair feeding into my obsession of keeping the Lotze perfect. I was a match made in heaven. Unfortunately, last Saturday she wanted to take our relationship to the physical level. Oy vey iz mir!
As I paid for my forty-dollar bath she approached me to see how the windscreen was holding up after her handy work. I said how it was great which was code for wanted to her to slowly work her hands over my bicep. This is when she offered more than her windshield services. Every fiber in my body stopped the physical reaction of retching upon her Rush Tee-shirt. But, then I stopped; she does have nice Pumas. I wonder if I’d get a discount at the car wash?