“I’m concerned,” Tom said as we talked on Skype.
Crap. He must’ve seen the charge for when I went to Wal-Mart. It’s just, I can’t seem to only buy a few items when I go there. I go down the food aisle and think, mmm, that looks tasty. Then I’m in the movie section and I’m like, “Ooo, great movie, I haven’t seen this in ages!” Suddenly I’m in book section and I’m all, “I could use a book to read.”
Basically, it means that I spend more than I intended.
“I can explain,” I answered. “I saw the box of Fruity Pebbles treats and had to try them. I mean, Tom, it’s Fruity Pebbles…in the shape of a BAR. Sort of like Rice Krispy Treats but in Fruity Pebbles form. Anyhow, after I got those, it went downhill from there. I found all sorts of deals and—”
“What are you talking about?” Tom interrupted.
I blinked. “I thought we were talking about the Wal-Mart charge.”
Tom shook his head. “No. I was referring to the e-mail you sent me. The one where you jokingly referred to the car as no longer blue but brown and white because you haven’t had it washed in forever?”
Oh. That. I ramble about all sorts of things in e-mails and might have mentioned the dirty car.
Wait, why was Tom talking about the dirty car?
“Yes?” I pressed.
Tom sighed. “When was the last time you had it washed?”
Since he left in August.
I didn’t tell him this though. I didn’t want him to fall out of his chair.
“Er...it’s been a few months,” I fibbed.
“You do know that all the crap they put on the road can erode the paint on the vehicle over time. Amber, knock it off, stop mimicking me, I’m serious,” Tom snapped.
I sort of mouthed the whole eroding paint bit with him. He says that all the time. Tom is a bit obsessive with washing his truck. He cannot stand a messy vehicle. And when Tom washed the truck, he didn’t half-ass it. He has wax and special cleaning crap and he even scrubs down the tires. The tires!
His truck is like the other love in his life. The only reason he washed my car along with it was because he couldn’t stand to see a messy car beside his precious baby.
I mean, the horror.
“Please tell me you’ll wash your car,” Tom said.
“Fine. It’s 60 today so I’ll do it. Happy?”
“Yes, and you will be too when you have a clean car again.”
Sure, whatevs. So long as the car works, I’m fine with it.
Still, I decided to clean the car just in case Tom asked for a picture. I wouldn’t put it past him. (And I don’t have to worry about his truck. His Mom has it since I don’t drive trucks.)
This is the before picture:
And this is the after. With Natalie running around in her underwear. She had just consumed a Fun Dip.
Close up! (And no, I didn’t use any special wax. I just washed it with the hose.)
I sent Tom an e-mail with that photo saying, “Happy, you brat?”
(He was. Probably more than a normal person would be. I’m tempted to cover the car with mud when he returns to see if he’ll pass out from shock.)