We have a black car. A Pontiac Sunfire. It's a girl car. Candace bought if a little while after she graduated from high school. It has a sun sticker on the back window. It's got some years on it now, so it's not much to look at. The finish is coming off and it got rear-ended a few years back but never fixed. It's also paid for, so I don't mind driving it around even though I know that I lose Cool Points whenever I turn the key to start it.
In its prime, it ferried my lady around in style with a loud ghetto muffler. I could hear her coming from around the corner. No joke. Now, it ferries me to work with a held-on-with-a-bungee-cord muffler.
On Friday, I parked it under this giant tree to hopefully shade it over the hot, humid weekend.
I came out this morning and it was covered in bird poop.
Covered.
I don't know what people feed birds around here, but judging by the immensity and consistency of the droppings that now inhabit the exterior my car, it's a blend of Metamucil and Raisin Bran. And something purple. I'm not sure what that is, but it's all over my windshield. Maybe the raisins?
I have had three people in my office of six comment on the bird crap that now envelopes my car. Anyway, so now I have to wash my car... but I really don't want to. This is my dilemma. It is of immense proportions.
3 comments:
when was the last time that car was washed anyway? We can't break the streak.
i can't believe your co-workers are commenting. how embarasing!
Gross.
I love that you still have your wife's old car. We hang on to our cars too until they die...or go to that farm way out in the country (otherwise known as my parents property-they look like used car salesmans).
Post a Comment