I'm watching my husband wash his car and, yes, that is as boring as it sounds.
Oh- now he has out some weird squeegee thing going over it in quick, squeaky, motions. It's like slightly-buffered nails down a chalkboard.
My child stands a few feet away slowly and meticulously dumping out all of the water in his Pirate Sea Table. A scoop goes on to the deck, one for his homies, one on his toes and the last on his forehead where he then sputters and looks around for the culprit who just attacked him from an unseen location
Rinse.
Repeat.
Now the hubs has out a large cloth and is carefully rubbing the Caddy as if she is Slave Leia and he is Han Solo there to soothe the pains of the past/grit from the past's journeys.
His buttcrack, on view for the entire neighborhood to see, cements his uncaring attitude about what others think of the forbidden love between him and his vehicle. Surely breaking a few covenants with his machismo so much on display he gyrates and shimmies to reach every nook and cranny.
Some cars have all the luck.
:)
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