roving herds of dirty cars

It's Friday in my world, and yours truly just finished vacuuming my little ivory gas burner before the weekend, cleaning out the ashtray, washing the windows with 409, all while stocking the change tray with quarters for my $.50-a-day Coke habit.

Why -- I've even removed the dried spilt coffee out of the cup holder, but no one will ever know how spiffy my wheels are by viewing the exterior. Especially after some well-intentioned, but rude individual has written "Wash Me" with their finger on my rear window.

Car washes are one of my favorite places to visit! I'm talking about the quarter-operated ones that allow you to spray your own car down with one of those high-pressure hoses-- not the drive through brushless ones. There's nothing quite like the satisfaction of grasping something that you need two hands to control. Some of them have timers now, but usually you have no idea how much time you have left so you rush to get all the soap rinsed off before the spray reduces to a trickle and you have to put in four more quarters. It's like a game, or maybe I'm just easily amused.

The best part of the car wash is sitting inside the car while someone else is washing it. Watching the water cascade down the windows and listening as the spray buffets the car. Although I may be alone on this one, because my mother gave me the strangest look the other day when she told me she was going to wash her car and I get all excited and say, "Oooh -- can I come?"

So, if the Prize Patrol knocks on my door and two perky people with microphones want to drag me out of the house in front of a camera, you'll just have to leave the prize on the porch or wait until I return from my favorite place in the whole wide world.

That's my story,and I'm sticking to it.