The most recent was last week. I had to have a few days to put it all in perspective because, you see, it was a Granpa-induced event...
We drive a van that has what I call wing-windows at the very back. The way far back. So far back that you almost have to open the hatch to get to them. Granpa likes to open those wings up to improve the flow of fresh air. He never tells me that he's done that, and he usually forgets to close them.
Last Monday, after our trip to Chimney Rock, I decide to fill up the gas tank and run the van through the car wash. Mmm-hmm. You guessed what happened next, but let me play it out for you.
When you pull into the bay, a sign lights up telling you it's time to stop and put the car in neutral. This is when I usually start cleaning the steering wheel and dashboard, etc. with my handy-dandy baby wipes that no car should be without.
The mechanism that sprays water and moves itself around the car kicks on, and high pressure water begins to bombard the car. I'm scrubbing away when I think I feel water coming at me from somewhere. Granpa also has a tendency to lower all windows just a tad during the summertime because it can get so hot in Texas that if you don't, the windows may break. (Our son sent me an iPhone photo yesterday of the reading on his digital thermometer that he had pointed at the ground on our lil' hobby farm back home: 157. The weatherman only tells you the ambient air temperature not the ground temperature...) So, guessing that's where the water came from, I hit the electric window buttons to make certain all windows are up tight.
I go back to my cleaning; the high pressure spray is now putting out soapy water. Suddenly I'm being hit with globs of soap! What in heavens name? I twist in my seat and realize that Granpa has done the wing-window thing again! Good grief! I can't get out of the car, open the hatch and close the windows while that thing is moving around the car, not to mention the tons of water spraying everywhere. If those windows are going to get closed it's going to have to be from the inside.
I shut down the engine (because I can just see me hitting the gear shift when I try to climb over the console and through the front seats...), unbuckle the seat belt, shove the seat all the way back, and try desperately to twist my enormous ol' buttinsky out from under the steering wheel and over the console. I essentially fall headfirst through the two front seats onto the back floorboard, all the while trying not to think of what the guy monitoring the security cam for the car wash is seeing.
As I raise up, my head smacks the clothes rod that our hanging clothes go on when traveling. It falls, and as I try to step to the back of the van, I trip over it landing in a heap on the back seat. Just then the rinse cycle of water sprays in under high pressure from both wing-windows, and I'm drenched - as is the whole interior of the van. The cup holders now have a half-inch of water in them...
I know that what comes next is the wax, and I must get those windows shut before that stuff gets all over the upholstery! The problem is, I never can get that silly latch to un-latch so that the window can close, and this time it's covered in slippery soapy water! It's a race against time, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna lose. Granpa is in SO much trouble!!
I clamber back to the front of the van to grab the roll of paper towels we keep under the console, then back to the windows. How does this latch work!? Truthfully, I still don't know, but somehow I manage to dry it off enough to get a grip, release one and close it, but by the time I get to the next one - whoosh! in comes the rainbow colors of the foaming wax right in my face! He's gonna pay. Granpa is gonna pay, and pay, and pay for this one!
More paper towels to wipe my face enough to see, close the window, try to get as much wax as possible off the upholstery, ceiling, side panels, and floor. Then back to the front seat before the rinse cycle is done and the "go" light comes on. My blouse catches on the arm rest, flipping it down so that my behind lands on it as I try to straddle the console and slip under the steering wheel.
The light goes green. I have to start the engine! Put it in gear, calm down, and inch forward (no easy task since I'd been on an adrenaline rush the last few minutes...) so that the monster blow dryer could dry the van on the outside. I suppose it's up to me to dry it on the inside since Granpa doesn't get off of work for another eight hours! Trouble. The man is in trouble.
* * * * * * * *
I am so tempted to call him at work and give him a scolding as only wives can, but that's not something to do when he's at work. Besides, I need a lil' distance from this event before discussing it with him. I need a lil' perspective...
* * * * * * * *
About noon-ish my phone rings. It's Granpa. He very, very rarely calls me during the day. I don't even remember what he called about, but I begin telling him about my morning. I choose to give him the "I Love Lucy" version because, no matter how much trouble he's in, he doesn't need to get chewed out at work. By the time I'm through he's laughing pretty good. I calmly tell him how much trouble he's in. I can still hear a big smile on his face - but he knows he's done a bad thing.
* * * * * * * *
Throughout the evening, after each string of conversation, I end by saying, "Oh, by the way, I'm not talking to you." After I say our bedtime prayer to the Lord out loud, I pause, and quietly say to Granpa, "I'm still not talking to you." Granpa hugs me tight and kisses my ear. "I know," he says, "I know."
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