What A Washout

I knew it was going to be a rough day when I got out of bed to find I could barely get out of bed.

The ‘leg day’ of the previous day was repaying me in pain with no payoff of a positive kind just yet (what can one expect, I guess, having been to the gym but once in the past 2 years).

So I staggered into the bathroom, reminiscent of the floppy fish foot experience of 6 years ago (part of the reason for my lack of gym time), dragging my sorry self in for my morning ablutions.

I thought I was being clever utilising my time on the toot to rub some menthol based anti-inflammatory cream onto my aching extremities…only to be faced with the fact that I still had to, well, er conclude my business with at least one menthol-coated hand (I did have the forethought to use my left hand for the pain rub, leaving my right to wipe). But then I had the dilemma of pulling up my pj pants again, or walking like a cowboy to the shower in case I rubbed pain relief cream where it would in fact cause extreme pain…

Settling the matter with the latter, I entered the shower and whimpered as quietly as I could in case I woke my slumbering family (why are they always asleep at these crucial times I do not know).

Dried and dressed and ready to face the day I hit the highway for my early morning commute. As the sun hit the windscreen it dawned on me (literally and figuratively speaking) that the car didn’t get the bath it was supposed to over the weekend. The kids drive a hard bargain when it comes to chores and I was thinking of a less expensive choice.

Since I still had time, I decided to do what I’ve done on many an occasion, and zip through the 24-hour carwash down the road. It’s never busy at that time, and the distance of my drive to work ensures the duco gets a decent blow dry.

This time I wasn’t alone in my cunning plan, the car wash also doubles as a dog washing centre and there was a woman already there doing the shampooch thing.

Given that I didn’t have an exorbitant amount of time, or money, I chose the budget Express Wash.

Oh the irony.

At first the machine wouldn’t accept my shiny new note, and kept insisting on giving me change in return. On the third attempt, a coin made a break for it and rolled underneath my car, leaving me short.  So I reversed my car, got out and under the driver’s side to retrieve the errant dollar and try again.

Success?

Not so fast.

The word “Enter” lit up so I did as the sign said, and also came to a “Stop” when told to, albeit a little crookedly alongside the safety rail at the wheels.

The carwash bay doors swung inwards and shut in front (an important point to note), and the L-shaped washing bar of the machine swung into action. So far, so good.

After an initial rinse the machine proceeded to spray the soap all over my grotty little vehicle, then started the next rinse.  After a minute or so I realised that the right rear panel of my car must’ve been particularly dirty, or the thing was stuck.  Another minute or so of spraying in the same spot, I decided the thing was definitely stuck, but so was I. (I mean, who hasn’t seen those videos of people getting out of the car in the car wash and copping a washing of their own?!)

It was when the sign light went out altogether, and the spraying ceased to a half-hearted squirt I became concerned for my predicament.  It was 6.40am, I was seemingly stuck in a carwash, with only one other person around, and like the movie says: In space (or inside a car inside a carwash), no one can hear you scream.

Thank goodness for modern technology- present carwashing company excluded- I searched on my smartphone for the number on the off-chance that there was someone onsite (or even up) that ran the place.  Nope, voicemail, informing me of the staffed hours (from 10am!) and to leave a message about any issues with the equipment. I briefly informed them there were indeed equipment issues, where and when I was calling from, and think I ended with a frustrated “Dammit” before disconnecting. I did not leave my return number so am not expecting them to get back to me as promised.

Here I consider my options:

#1: Sit in the car until someone shows up (only 3 and a half hours later!)

#2: Give it another minute or so in case it starts up again (maybe I wasn’t the only one having trouble moving this morning).

#3: Get out of my car and see if I could in fact get my car out. The front way was a bust, the aforementioned inward-opening doors were not in my favour.

I gingerly opened my door and stretched out the back, giving the washer bar a prod to see if it would start moving again – ready to dive straight back into the car if that was the case (I’d already had my shower thankyouverymuch). It stayed stuck.

So I gauge the distance between my tyres and the safety rail down below, and the gap between my car and the bar at the back. I figured it was worth a shot in view of Option #1.

I put my window down, pull my mirror in, and put the car into Reverse. Boy those rails are close and tricky to navigate backwards! Happily I have a little SUV so I went slightly off road and onto the rails to ease her back. Next I summon my superhuman strength that seems to show in times of stress and physically push the machine out of the way so it doesn’t take off my mirror.

Both me and my car made it out in one piece, although half my car was covered in suds (the right rear panel mind you is absolutely gleaming!)  I see as I start to make my way out of the carwash centre that there was now another car lover in the bay next door now, using the one hose I could’ve commandeered to clean off the shampoo.

But by the time this sudsy saga played out I was now running late for work, and the budget Express Wash had cost me dearly.

Next time I’ll just pay the kids extra to do it for me.

Jx

© 23 January 2017

War of the Words

There’s a cake of soap sitting on our lounge at the moment.

At first I wondered why it was there, but then I realised the implications: our son was playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles® on the PlayStation®.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I come from a long line of “Mind your Manners” and “We don’t use that kind of language in our house”.

I mean to say, when my mother was a young adult still at home (before my father supposedly swept her off her feet and into the world of motherhood and all it entails) she was learning to use the ol’ Singer® sewing machine (a classic in this day and age, and if you happen to see one in the antique shops grab it for heaven’s sake, they’re worth a fortune…but I digress). She was having some difficulty in getting the bobbin to catch- the cotton kept snapping- so she said: “Oh you bloody thing!” Unfortunately for her my nan was within earshot and promptly took her to task saying “If that machine is going to cause you to use such language, well you can give it away right now!”

Oh we LOL about it these days, but back then even such a mild curse caused chaos in the household…heaven forbid anyone said anything worse than that!

Nowadays the things my kids bring home from school (and the so-called “hilarious” screensavers and ringtones my stepson has on his mobile) could cause my hair to curl even if it weren’t already predisposed to doing so!

We thought we were doing so well for the first few years. Oh I would be lying if I said no swear word ever left my mouth- after all, I’m a media hound from way back, and a mother to boot. But we always try to tone it down in front of the kids.Sadly, as soon as our little boy hit kindergarten, his vocabulary took on a life of its own.

Happily, it seems to be more of a ‘boy-thing’ at the moment as our daughter isn’t exhibiting the same finesse with the F word as our son has demonstrated (also while playing a video game). But he’s only done it once, I can assure you.

Mind you, in view of equal rights for the sexes and all, I should make mention of one time my little girl tried some big bad words on for size.

She and her brother were arguing (about who loved the other the most would you believe?!) when next thing my darling daughter, hands on hips, declared “Oh what a load of bullsh*t!”
Now, how hard is it to reprimand when you’re having trouble keeping a straight face, I ask you?!

Scary thing was, it was a frighteningly accurate impression of her mother. Yes it was mini-me in action!

After the laughter, I reminded Miss V that it was a grown-up turn of phrase, which shouldn’t turn up in the course of her conversations! (I even apologised for being the inspiration for it, trying to set a good example and all.)

As for the silly sayings for body parts, well that’s enough for a blog of its own. Suffice to say that I really wonder about what other parents are thinking using names like “doodle”, wee wee”, “pee pee”, and let’s not forget “willy” for the male appendage. And what is it with “front bottom” for little girls I ask you?? Front bottom!! No, we have always called them by their proper names (much to my Beloved’s embarrassment at first when our daughter was born- harking back to his experiences of childhood, perhaps?) … but once again when our son started mixing with other kids at pre-school, he even started to think that they were rude or dirty words and cause for naughty celebration.

Sitting in the bath with his little sister, all of age 2 himself, my son was merrily saying “Bagina” this, “Bagina” that, until my husband and I were forced to admonish him for the inappropriate use. The cheeky little devil looked his father in the eye and said “B- b- b- b- boat.”

Again, it’s kinda hard to remind them about the right use of language when you’re giggling too much to talk.

Anyway, back to TMNT on the PS2 and that cake of soap on the lounge… apparently replacing the obvious with the word “shell” isn’t enough to distract my son from the fact that there are swear words lurking nearby. It’s even worse if he plays The Simpsons™. *shudder*

So just like my nan whenever mum was using the infamous Singer sewing machine, if our son’s on the PlayStation, my Beloved is hovering nearby- our family’s very own Language Police- in a bid to keep our kids’ mouths as clean as we can. At least until they grow up and move out at any rate. Lord knows he won’t get away with the soap trick then! ;-D

Jx
©2009

PS: On the flipside, I had to laugh the other day when Miss V came home from her school excursion to a local wildlife reserve called 'Blackbutt'. She was telling her aunty on the 'phone all about her trip to 'Blackbottom'! ROFL