I used to have a clean car. I’d take it through the car wash at least every other month. And this warmer weather reminds me of the nice Sunday afternoons I’d spend wiping the windows, vacuuming the carpets and cleaning out all the stuff.
When people would give me a ride and they’d apologize because their car was messy, I’d say I didn’t mind. And I didn’t. But I would also secretly be glad my car didn’t look like theirs.
Then I got a dog. And this dog has long, beautiful white fur. That, somehow, weaves itself into the fabric of our seats.
Though she also sheds liberally in the house, I think she somehow waits until she’s in the car to poof off most of her fur. Then there’s the mud. I remember the time she climbed into my car after one of our first adventures on a damp spring morning.
I can still see the chunky brown outline of her paw print on my seat. It was so perfect, this paw print, that it looked fake, like it had been sown into the seat. It might as well have been, for how long it took to get it out.
ADVERTISEMENT I bought a seat cover and I stayed up on my cleaning routine. Though guests in my car may have walked out with an occasional piece of fur stuck to their butt, it was manageable. Then I had a kid.
That’s when the metaphorical wheels fell off. Because this kid (and his dog, and his dad — and his mom, for that matter) loves to go to the beach together. And for hikes.
In fact, his parents insist on taking him on all sorts of year-round family.