Wax on, Whacks off

Here in Fort Lauderdale they used to have a car wash where the employees all worked in bikini bottoms only. Unfortunately they only hired young women. It was everything that you would expect. Breasts covered in suds pressed up against the windows, while drooling perverts sat in their cars doing what perverts do. Once again, I was very sorry that they didn't employ young men.

I used to love to wash my cars. When I was young I'd make sure that my car was always clean and shiny. My first car was a 1935 Studebaker and I was constantly washing that car. I would lovingly caress those art deco curves while waxing the black lacquer paint. That car would buff out beautifully. Through the years I had many cars and I would regularly wash and wax them all. It was a labor of love. I don't seem to have that urge any more. A few years ago things changed, and I think it was the PT Cruiser that did it. I traded in my beloved Sebring convertible for the Cruiser and I have just had a hard time loving that car. Yesterday morning, when I stepped out to walk the dogs, I noticed that the PT Cruiser was filthy. There were leaves from the oak tree wedged in every crevice. The windows were nearly opaque from dirt. And spattered across, from the front of the hood to the back of the roof, was bird poop. Chalky white splats of bird poop everywhere. I started to think back, when was the last time I had washed that car? It might have been a year ago, it might have been nine months ago, or what seems more likely, it might have last been washed in the year 2013. So yesterday afternoon I got out the bucket and soap, and I washed the PT Cruiser. And although I thought about it for a moment, I decided to do it with my shirt on. No need to press my sudsy breasts up against the car window while I washed it. There was no tip in it for me.