Car Wash Meltdown
/I don't clean my car. There, I said it. While I'm borderline anal-retentive about cleaning toilets, kitchen cabinets, my purse, or the junk drawer, I ignore my car to the point of abuse.
It's not that I never clean it. I periodically run it through the $5 (no wax, no air dry) service at the local BP gas station when I fill up. But vacuuming the insides or polishing the dash? Not gonna happen.
This causes best friend Trisha--a clean car fiend--untold levels of anxiety. Whenever I visit her she literally forces me to a "grown-up" (her words) car wash where I'm forced to pay the price of a nice dinner out WITH WINE for some teenage kid to buff my tire rims.