I remember a time, pre-kids, when I’d spend considerable effort making my car showroom worthy, breaking out the Armor All, vacuuming, and sometimes even going a little crazy and splurging on new car scent air freshener.
These days, unfortunately, my car is a utilitarian beast that takes a licking and keeps on driving. I’m just doing good to not run out of gas. Detail my car? Pshaw! I need to shave my legs people. The last thing I am worried about is the condition of my car’s interior. Until last week.
Last weekend while I was out of town the hubby drove my SUV. I have a four-door and he has a two-door, so mine is a bit roomier which is nice for driving the girls and all their gear around.
Normally I wouldn’t necessarily clean out my car for him, but it dawned on me that he’d be driving me and a blogger friend to the airport and suddenly I saw my car in the harsh cruel light of reality. It was like trying on Spanx in January in front of a full-length mirror.
When did the interior of my car become like the bottom of my purse? A crumb-filled knapsack on wheels filled with everything from rolling soccer balls to unclaimed socks and various and sundry trash items that a crafty MacGyver type could fashion into a funky Mother’s Day corsage. I knew my friend wouldn’t care about the condition of my car since she’s a mom but let’s face it, my car was overdue for a spring cleaning.
The night before my trip I had a million errands to run and I did the last minute tango of desperation at the local car wash with the super suction vacuum. I tossed all loose items in the back and then proceeded to vacuum up gnawed on sucker sticks, wrappers, and some brown unidentifiable dried substance melted on to the back seat cushion that was once Raisinettes.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself it was.