He glances at the van, accessing the condition of the interior. "Which package would you like?" he asks.
"I'm not sure.."
"I bet the kids make a huge mess in there," he adds.
"Kids? I don't have any kids." I laugh throatily as I run my perfectly manicured fingers through my long, freshly blown out blonde hair. "This is my sister's car, and believe me, the mess in here is nothing compared to the mess in her house. The dog hair alone...." I shake my head in dismay. "I'm getting the car cleaned as a favor to her, while she's having a spa day. Right now, she is in the capable hands of Eduardo, my favorite masseur. His hands are magic. She'll be a new woman." I exit the van, grabbing my clutch and Blackberry. "Give it the works," I decide.
As I sashay inside to wait, I step gingerly over the puddle in front of the door. Can't wreck the new Manolos....
Okay, so what really happened is that the van had gotten to such a state of ewww that I thought I might have a family of rodents living under the seats. I'd gotten a coupon at the gas station I frequent for a car wash, and partially for me, and mainly for Mr W, who really likes a clean car, I took the van in.
I cringed a little at the comment about the kids making a mess in there as I knew the truth: much like some people clean their houses before the maid comes over, I'd given the van a once-over, tossing the trash and removing extraneous stuff (so it could be properly vacuumed). He tried to sell me a detailing package, but he lost me when he said they could make the interior look "like new". Honestly, dude, the only thing that would make my car interior look "like new" would be a new interior. Puh-leese.
I blew my mousy brown bangs off my forehead and shook my sad wilted ponytail, straightened my shoulders, and selected "Pacific Breeze" as my interior scent.
But I still sashayed inside to wait. As 'sashay' as one can get holding the hand of a sick 8 year old (Ryan is a little under the weather).
When I got home, I still wound up wiping a lot of spots they missed, but that's okay. When you are paying someone ten bucks (I had a coupon, remember) to tend to the Battle Van, clean windows and carpet go a long way in my forgiving them some spots around the base of the seats.
"Pacific Breeze," meet floral Fabuloso.
I may not be blonde, but courtesy of the haircut appointment I kept after the car wash, I have a fantastic straight diva blowout.
It's as "grrrrrrrrr" as I can get in mom-jeans and Vans.