The Pit of Despair and Other Surprises
You should know that my husband is not a filthy person. His dresser and side of the closet are neater than mine are (family and former roommates now point out that that’s not saying much). When it comes to the chores, we have a general division of labor that works for both of us. I wash the dishes, and he puts them away. He scoops the litter box daily; I wash it out weekly. He straightens up while I go after the baseboards with a toothbrush. Don’t ask me to take out the recycling, and don’t ask him to clean the toilet.
We both appreciate a neat, well-organized home, and, though we haven’t quite figured out how to put that into perfect practice, nothing inside our apartment ever approaches icky; we would never even be considered for those house-cleaning reality shows. All in all, things work well and stay pretty darn clean. Except for his car.
The typical filthy, rather-walk-than-catch-a-ride-in-it car is littered with fast-food wrappers and just enough remaining bites of hamburger to attract pests, ankle-deep in garbage, unopened mail and dirty tissues. My husband’s car is quite a different beast, though still beastly. A friend once compared it to a compost heap, a particularly apt description if you stretch it a little to include the tool-shed next to it. You’ll find apple cores, landscaping supplies, and enough dirt to pot a few sapling trees. I think he might actually be transporting mulch and compost loose in the back of his car; he himself admits to considering it more as the flatbed of a truck than the back of a station wagon.
Last Christmas, I gave my husband a homemade gift certificate to clean his car, driven by a dangerous combination of the seasonal spirit of giving, a desire to find out what color the upholstery really is, and a good dose of eggnog. I had to make good before the next Christmas or lose all credibility, so yesterday I tackled the unthinkable.
In addition to as much dirt as expected, if not more, I found the following:
~89 cents (28 cents of which remain in the car, firmly stuck to the dashboard with some sticky substance I’m trying not to think about too much)*
~3 feet of weatherstripping
~A pair of new pants still in the shopping bag, along with a 5-month old receipt
~4½ pencils (one was broken)
~2 pens
~1 Sharpie
~1 good old-fashioned paperclip
~1 large new-fangled paperclip
~2 unidentified objects that look like they are meant to cap the sharp ends of a piece of furniture or entertain cranky toddlers or…something
~1 Water Ace Transfer Pump (for, you know, transferring pumps, or pumping transfers, of course)
~a bagful of brand-new gardening gloves
~5 or so of those little orange flags on dastardly sharp metal sticks that are used to mark baby trees and discourage people from cleaning out cars
~An unidentified object that I think used to be a piece of fruit. It sort of looks like a huge peach pit, so I’m going to go with peach. Once I figure out how, I’ll post a picture of it. In the meantime, it’ll make a nice paperweight.
~An unlocated source of a brown sticky liquid that somehow got all over my left forearm. I think this was under the driver’s seat. Again, I’m trying not to think about it.
The whole job involved a lot of contorting and awkward maneuvers and was very tiring, especially since I seem to have lost my crevice attachment. No one gave me a medal once I finished, but I sure am glad to have gotten that “for worse” part out of the way early on in the marriage, and I’m looking forward to 60 years of “for better” from here on out. Right? Right? Am I right?
*My husband now informs me that this substance is superglue, which leaked out of a tube he'd left on the dashboard. I kid you not. Good thing he doesn't toss hundred-dollar bills up there. Oh, does anyone know of a superglue solvent?
We both appreciate a neat, well-organized home, and, though we haven’t quite figured out how to put that into perfect practice, nothing inside our apartment ever approaches icky; we would never even be considered for those house-cleaning reality shows. All in all, things work well and stay pretty darn clean. Except for his car.
The typical filthy, rather-walk-than-catch-a-ride-in-it car is littered with fast-food wrappers and just enough remaining bites of hamburger to attract pests, ankle-deep in garbage, unopened mail and dirty tissues. My husband’s car is quite a different beast, though still beastly. A friend once compared it to a compost heap, a particularly apt description if you stretch it a little to include the tool-shed next to it. You’ll find apple cores, landscaping supplies, and enough dirt to pot a few sapling trees. I think he might actually be transporting mulch and compost loose in the back of his car; he himself admits to considering it more as the flatbed of a truck than the back of a station wagon.
Last Christmas, I gave my husband a homemade gift certificate to clean his car, driven by a dangerous combination of the seasonal spirit of giving, a desire to find out what color the upholstery really is, and a good dose of eggnog. I had to make good before the next Christmas or lose all credibility, so yesterday I tackled the unthinkable.
In addition to as much dirt as expected, if not more, I found the following:
~89 cents (28 cents of which remain in the car, firmly stuck to the dashboard with some sticky substance I’m trying not to think about too much)*
~3 feet of weatherstripping
~A pair of new pants still in the shopping bag, along with a 5-month old receipt
~4½ pencils (one was broken)
~2 pens
~1 Sharpie
~1 good old-fashioned paperclip
~1 large new-fangled paperclip
~2 unidentified objects that look like they are meant to cap the sharp ends of a piece of furniture or entertain cranky toddlers or…something
~1 Water Ace Transfer Pump (for, you know, transferring pumps, or pumping transfers, of course)
~a bagful of brand-new gardening gloves
~5 or so of those little orange flags on dastardly sharp metal sticks that are used to mark baby trees and discourage people from cleaning out cars
~An unidentified object that I think used to be a piece of fruit. It sort of looks like a huge peach pit, so I’m going to go with peach. Once I figure out how, I’ll post a picture of it. In the meantime, it’ll make a nice paperweight.
~An unlocated source of a brown sticky liquid that somehow got all over my left forearm. I think this was under the driver’s seat. Again, I’m trying not to think about it.
The whole job involved a lot of contorting and awkward maneuvers and was very tiring, especially since I seem to have lost my crevice attachment. No one gave me a medal once I finished, but I sure am glad to have gotten that “for worse” part out of the way early on in the marriage, and I’m looking forward to 60 years of “for better” from here on out. Right? Right? Am I right?
*My husband now informs me that this substance is superglue, which leaked out of a tube he'd left on the dashboard. I kid you not. Good thing he doesn't toss hundred-dollar bills up there. Oh, does anyone know of a superglue solvent?
posted by Nev at
8:25 PM
2 Comments:
I guess it's a pretty bad sign that my first thought is that the car doesn't sound that messy. In my experience, cleaning out a really dirty car should yield enough change to buy a consoling pint of ice cream.
And now I'm remembering that this attitude of mine and that car-mess might be related. That did used to be my car, didn't it? The very bottom layer of that mess might just be mine. Thanks for cleaning it! Now I think you owe me 89 cents.
Hmmm, I've only got 61 cents, but you're welcome to fetch the remaining change from the dashboard. (Mwwwah ah ah!)
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