Friday, February 25, 2005

OOOOOOH, a Sparkalie! Can I have it Can I have it oh PLEASE Mrs. Brisbee?

This morning I awoke at 8:06. For no apparent reason. Though I’d hazard a guess my awakening was hastened by the 47 gallons of pure unadulterated sunshine flowing in through my windows. OH THE BLESSED SUN!!

It took me until 8:34 to convince myself it was okay to get up. I had not planned an excursion to the gym that morning so sleeping in should have been my top priority. But alas, THE BLESSED SUN showed me the way out of my bed.

Since I had planned to drive home to visit my parents this weekend, I thought that I might spend my time “wisely” by washing my car. A noble idea at 8:35 in the morning when nightgown is still askew and breath is still abominable. So, 2.5 minutes later, I plopped my sketchy self into my spanky black car and drove down the road to the car wash. (I long for the day when I have a water hookup where I can wash my car outside my house.)

I pre-soaked, soaped, foam-brushed, tire-cleaned, luster-glossed, rinsed and spot-free rinsed all thanks to the 7 dollars in quarters I scrounged out of my purse. After I had certified that my vehicle was dirt-free, I pulled it out of the bay to dry the outside and try out my new “spray detailer.”

**As a side note, I have a severe problem with car care products. I have amassed more waxes, tire cleaners, spray foam, wheel brushes, bug sponges and the like than any normal person in the tri-state area. I could start my own detailing shop with the mounds of products made specifically for the anal retentive of the human species.

Back to the previous story… I had pulled my car out of the bay and parked beside the foam and fragrance vacuum cleaner. I’m drying away with the lint-a-licious terry cloth towel purchased for a bank-breaking two dollars from the vending machine. (TWO DOLLARS FOR CLOTH? Just because it was manufactured by People With Disabilities does not make it worth two dollars. Come on.) So anyway. I’m sweating and icky and Lord knows I don’t have any make-up on and I haven’t taken a shower which means my deodorant is living on a prayer and my only redeeming quality is that my stretchy spandexy pants are partially covered by my giant hoodie. At his point I hear a THWACK off to my right and glance up—only to notice the short crackhead standing less than one foot from my person. I’ve got a naturally large personal space bubble and homeboy had popped that bubble about 16 feet ago. That’s when it dawns on me that the THWACK I heard a moment a go was, in fact, this idiotic human being snapping his drying towel on the side of my car in an effort to garner my attention. Now, you can harass me, invade my space and blast your crackhead vibes all around me BUT DO NOT TOUCH MY CAR.

So I stand up to my full height and look him dead in the eye. Which, as far as I’m concerned, should never happen because my ‘full height’ is a mere 5 foot 6 inches. Out of the corner of my eye I see his ’96 Chevy S-10 with it’s lowered suspension and chrome wheels. A serious offense in my book as trucks and SUV’s were built on a higher platform for a specific purpose. If you want a vehicle that close to the ground, BUY A CAR. Don’t insult truck and SUV-drivers the nation over by altering the make-up of your vehicle in such a sacrilegious manner.
“You got a booooyfriend?” he asks.

“Yes. Thank you,” I say. Obviously I’m lying but I’m hardly going to launch into any sort of negotiations with this cretin.

“You sho do got a fiiiiine ass,” he says. Somehow managing to be both lecherous and hilarious at the same time.

God forgive me for egging this on, but I did.

“You really think so? I’ll have to add that in my compliment book. I so rarely receive high-caliber remarks such as yours.”

Now here I’m thinking that I’ve probably overdone it, because I’m fairly positive the only reference to the word “caliber” he’s ever heard has been in conjunction with a high-powered rifle or handgun.

“Oooooh girl,” he slurs out, looking me up and down. He then makes some sort of strange slurpy-smacky nose that does hereby take the cake for today’s most thoroughly disturbing noise.

I try to give him my most scathing look.

“Thank you for you interest. I’ll pass.”

I then turn back around and resume drying off my car. I can feel him standing behind me for a good minute or so but, being the stubborn bitch I am, I refuse to give him any sort of satisfaction in watching me run off with my tail between my legs.

Eventually he walks off and I furiously dry the rest of my vehicle, annoyed that yet another ignorant Random has made me irritable. By the time I’m done drying and polishing, I’ve worked off most of my anger. I probably polished just a bit too hard and may have missed a spot or two of the detailing spray (a lovely product invented for the sole purpose of making vehicles shinier) but all was well with the world by the time I got to work. Not even the news that I would have to cover my brothers bills this month because he has even less money-skills than I (though he claims superiority) could ruin my mood.

There’s nothing like a shiny car to make the world a better place.

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