When you blog about going to the car wash with your husband, that's bad. And you've really desperate if you take pictures.
Cliff used to spend half his weekends washing vehicles; he was very picky about keeping them shining. If it meant going to the car wash twice a week, fine. It was important to him that his car or pickup present a good image of him. (I wish I had half his good-housekeeping skills.) Alas, with all his hobbies these days, the car can get pretty dirty before he gets around to cleaning it up.
So we got home with groceries and he said he was going to wash the car.
"I'm taking the camera and going along," I told him. "If Ree can do a whole entry about putting up big hay bales, I can do one about you washing the car."
He just shook his head.
First, of course, he needed quarters. Lots of them. Sorry about the off-brand jeans; if I'd been thinking, I'd have made him put on his sexy Wranglers for the pictures.
He's never used this car wash; it took three quarters to get the thing started.
It's a good thing Cliff took me along, because he gave me the job of putting two more quarters in when the buzzer sounded (he wouldn't have been able to hear it).
Unfortunately, the sign is a lie. No buzzer sounded. But being always on the alert, I noticed when the timer got down to one minute and shoved in the money quickly. Am I good, or what?
I love being so useful. What would Cliff ever do without me?
He was very thorough.
He took extra time on the tires and wheels. (Dang, I wish I'd made him wear his Wranglers!)
Time was spent on ALL the tires. There are four of them; count for yourself.
Finally, the rinse part. All told, we used eight quarters.
Don't even say what you're thinking. Read the preceding entry and you'll understand why I do things like this.
All right, I'll admit it: it would have been funnier if Ree had written it. That woman is a hoot.