The Car Wash

So far this summer we’ve had some seriously hot days.

Too hot to be outside kind of heat.

Some days, though, have been almost too hot to be outside. On those days I try to get the kids outside and spray them down. One in our number isn’t a huge fan of water sprayed in her face, the other two beg for more. Whatev.’

It occurred to me , though, the other day that my car was looking a little dirty.

Enter. The car wash.

 

That’s right, folks, I believe in slave labor.

Is there another reason to have children?

I recall doing a lot of cleaning and work as a child. And my parents sitting with their feet up eating bon bons. This is the natural order of things, no?

I kid. I kid. I don’t think they were bon bons.

They were Symphony bars!

Still it was a near perfect afternoon activity. I sprayed. They washed. I sprayed. They wash. Everyone is happy.

I think this side of my car has never been so clean.

For the record they are open for business.

Although this isn’t a traveling car wash.

Cars must come to us.

They prefer to work with their own equipment.

And being their manager I do try to comply.

It’s all about fairness, you know. Or something.