Thursday, 10 March 2016

At the car wash...

Time for another shocking revelation from the Bach archives - until recently I'd never been through a car wash.

I know, I haven't lived.  I had my first mini Babybel the other week too.  Never bought them before - to buy individually waxed cheeses seemed frivolous when you can buy a large block and carve off your daily requirements.

I read somewhere that cheese was as addictive as hard drugs which possibly explains my three slices a day habit.  Mind you, I don't have to resort to crime to feed my addiction, just raid the dairy shelves of my nearest shop - paying for my purchases at the till, obviously.

Anyway, I digress, back to the car wash.  It's a strange sensation, not one that I particularly enjoy.  Slightly claustrophobic, noisy, fear of windows or windscreen leaking, altogether a bit stressful, although arguably the end result is worth it.

It's not somewhere I look forward to going, but when husband announced he'd just quickly pop the car through when we were out shopping I reluctantly agreed.

He decided he'd be more extravagant than usual and opted for a wheel wash.  This is done by hand, and while the chap was scrubbing away at the wheels he discovered a nail in husband's tyre.

He removed it, proffered it at the driver's window, turned away - which is when husband wound down the window to enquire if the tyre was deflating, just at the same moment as the guy spun around with the pressure washer in hand to continue his task.

The cascade of pressurized water and cleaning fluid came through the open window, bypassed husband in the driver's seat and hit me fair and square in the face.

I froze, not quite able to comprehend what had just happened, with water dripping from my nose and chin.

The man apologized profusely, husband fell about laughing, whilst daughter sitting in the back quickly passed me some paper towel.

I too can now laugh about this incident - three months after it happened!

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