Anyway, wedding stuff happened, friends came from all over the place that I love with all my heart and soul, eternal things occurred, and before I knew it we were leaving our reception in a car that had been forgotten about until the very last moment. And how do I know this? Because scrawled all over the car was whipped cream with hardly decipherable writing that was supposed to say "Just marrusdfh?" And there I saw a bottle of whipped cream sitting on the trunk for good measure. But I mean, don't get me wrong, I was grateful for the effort that had gone into it. We decided that we would not be washing it that night, because guys, I'm 26 and he's nearly 29 and if you know anything, you know what that means. And so we took off for that snobbish Scottsdalian place where all the beautiful things are and decided, without ever saying out loud, that the car would have to wait.
The next morning came and before we took off for beaches and beautiful weather we decided it was NECESSARY to clean off that car. So, we filled up with gas and purchased a car wash to boot. I love those sorts of car washes. There's something therapeutic about them I think. The way it swishes and swashes all over the windows of the vehicle you reside in. But don't you agree? I didn't always feel this way though. I remember they used to terrify me. My oldest sister would read books to me as the car moved through them so as to prevent tears spilling over my cheeks. I won't say how old I was. Soap and water can be scarier than you think.
So, back on track, we finished our car wash, looked out our windows, and quickly realized that not a single drop of whipped cream had been washed away. Not. A. Single. Drop. So we pulled up to the pump and I began to scrub with one of those window washers they have at those there gas stations. And would you believe that once more, nothing came off that car? Well, believe it.
So, a slightly irritated Taylor started looking up self-serve car washes. His smart phone finally located one and off we went. I couldn't stop laughing the whole way over because it was kind of a retarded situation and Taylor couldn't quite see the humor in it which somehow made it funnier to me, which probably made it even less funny to him. We pulled into the stall, put in our tokens, and began scrubbing with the brush. And people I tell you, noooothing was coming off. I laughed harder. Taylor didn't.
Then I started scrubbing it off with my finger nails and lo and behold, that whipped cream finally found a home embedded in my nails. Finally, we had found a solution! I started taking one of my finger nails and began scraping away only to soon realize that, that tactic would take 1,000 years. So, like any sane people, we began to claw at the car with all fingernails against the car. The water was freezing, the wind was blowing in a way you really wish it wouldn't when it's 50 degrees outside and there's water involved, and our fingers were starting to become wrinkly and sore. Slowly, it became slightly less funny, but still funny enough to laugh every time I looked at Taylor scrubbing. Finally, our car was sort of clean, but mostly filmy and gross and we decided that our 6-hour-drive would just breeze the rest of it off?
I climbed in the car with my soaking wet feet and pants. A moment later Taylor joined me, put his key in the ignition, stared straight ahead, and said, "Let us never speak of this again." I busted up laughing and an unwanted smile creeped across his face.
And that's what life is really all about. Whipped cream and cars. You know?