Attention To Detail

Yesterday was a glorious day here in MA and I decided that I could no longer pretend that my silver SUV had been re-painted a darker shade of grey, on purpose. I couldn't act like the halo of dirt that adhered to the car no longer bothered me. I suddenly realized the dirt made me the "Pig Pen" of the pick up line at school and I was ashamed. Being a take charge kind of gal, I took immediate action.

Armed with my bucket of water, Turtle Wax car wash, sponges, chamois and rags I set out to right this terrible wrong. Upon first rinse of the hose, I was horrified to learn that the grime literally laughed in the face of the clean water. The clean water, no worthy adversary to months of built up dirt and salt. No, this was a job for a professional and the Turtle Wax car wash and I went straight to battle. I worked in sections, using my best "elbow grease" technique, revealing the sparkling, true color of my car. The soap and water did a victory dance over the surface of the vehicle as I gained the momentum I needed to eradicate the dirt. It took about an hour to encircle the entire car and when I was done, some of that dirt still clung to life, hoping to live for another day.

But yesterday was not the day, dear dirt, for there was a new Sherriff in town, and this town wasn't big enough for both of us. Round two, with the soap and sponge successfully cleaned the surface and I had found new life, inspired by my squeaky clean vehicle. It's beauty was once again evident and I knew my work was only half done. I opened the driver side door and went immediately to work. While not a complete disaster, it wasn't pretty in there. Half full water bottles occupied every cup holder, magazines, school papers and reciepts were casually strewn about among the sand left over from my Maine beach vacation. The black of the carpets had imbedded white pet hair from Buddy's frequent trips about town and my leather seats had seen better days.

I enlisted the help of My Guy's shop vaccum, because the house vaccum had never been that close to this much dirt. It was my "Patriot Missile", my secret weapon, and I doubt any other machine or human could have worked with as much harmony and rythm as we did. The black lustre of the floor carpets returned and I even lifted the seats to vaccum the underside. I was on a mission. No dirt or dog hair escaped my notice. I concocted a mixture of Amor All and window cleaner to treat the leather seats, and I swear I saw a twinkle when I completed them.

The dust on the dash had not a chance, and it was then that I realized this was what Mr. GM and Mr Ford intended the car to look like. Every inch of my vehicle was treated to a spa-like improvement and I doubt any professional could have done a better job. I had succeeded in reclaiming the glory of a nice car, something which had gotten lost under all that dirt. I stood back in awe, almost sorry that there was no crevice left to clean. I had left no stone unturned.

Now that my car is pristine, I don't want anyone IN the car, least of all my kids who don't seem to share in the appreciation of a squeaky clean vehicle and job well done. The ride to school this morning was full of warnings about trash, foot placement and bottled drinks.
To which they replied, "God mom, it's just a car."

Someday they will understand. I hope.