I parked our dilapidated mini van about twenty feet from Cade's truck. I told the kids, I'd just be sauntering over to their father to say hello. Then we'd all go home and they could tell him stories and hug him for hours, blah blah blah, etc.
I shut the van's door and the music suddenly blared. All four of my kids practically head-banged to the music and I swear the crappy van shook. The heater doesn't work. The back bumper is dented from the time I rammed our garbage can--it deserved it. The side door doesn't open, and I have to connect the battery before starting the car each time. But what the Hell, at least the radio can be cranked for pre-teen enjoyment!
I straightened my shorts, took my long blonde hair out of a bun and prepared to ambush Cade, when out of nowhere, a black car drove up and ambushed me.
"Where's the manager?" a man--who looked like Mr. Bean--asked me.
#1 If you look like Mr. Bean, you should NOT be allowed to ambush people.
#3 Mr. Bean, freakin' seriously?
#4 MOST IMPORTANTLY Did I look like the supreme authority on managers and their hourly whereabouts?
"Ummm. I don't know." I wanted to add, Mr. Bean.
He sneered at me, looking up and down at my outfit like I was Cinderella just after midnight, holding one shoe and standing in rags. "You're one of the car wash girls. Of course you should know where your boss is."
"Excuse me?" Did Mr. Bean just call me a car wash girl?
Disclaimer: nothing against car wash girls, but the title does not sound intellectually flattering.
Had he called me a burgeoning genius--I would've gone for it. Or something like, "Hey, aren't you the muy inteligente librarian from down the street?" Or, "Aren't you that social worker who gave back to the community, by donating everything you own?" But no, of course I would get accused of having a job that takes no brains, and just the skills to press a sponge AND boobs against a windshield simultaneously.
Why me? Maybe 'cause I have more heart than anything? Honestly, I'm not the brightest bulb in the bucket. And the other day I did try using my car clicker to unlock the front door, but that doesn't make me a bimbo has-been who washes cars for a living! (By the way, it does sound like a great way to get a tan though.)
Mr. Bean yelled, pulling me from my thoughts, "You work here! But instead of cleaning, you're just standing by that van, adjusting your clothes."
"I AM NOT a car wash girl. I'm visiting my husband. Over THERE!" I pointed, to where Cade had FINALLY noticed me.
Mr. Bean eyed Cade, turned red and drove away. Before I could say another word, Cade dropped the hose and ran over to hug me.
"I'm so glad you're home," I buried my face in his shoulder. "I just wanted to see you, and then that man accused me of looking like a car wash girl who was lazy and more concerned with clothes than anything else!"
Cade chuckled, holding me at arm's length. "Because you do look like one of the girls working here."
He'd been back in town for two seconds--did he already want to cause a fight? So as he washed the truck for a second, I backed to the other side of the wash, just wanting to study these girls I looked like. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. All right. It was a Mercedes. And there were only five
Why do I have such insane luck? Plus, one of the
"Cade!" I screamed. "Cade. I'm wearing the same clothes as those girls."
"I know." He smiled. "Isn't it hilarious? The funniest things happen to you."
I stomped back to my vibrating van and the kids, waving to me and their father, instantly turned the music down. "Hey, Mom. We thought it was so funny, did you notice you're wearing the same clothes as the car wash girls?"
I grunted. Did everyone have to know?
"Isn't it hilarious?" my oldest daughter persisted.
"Darling," I turned to my scribe-like daughter. "Today I want you to learn something: Car washes suck! AND humor is in the eye of the beholder!"