boomerlaughs

It seems always something simple that throws me for a loop as I age.

My car was in the shop for what seemed an intolerable length of time while the mechanics worked at figuring out why it just kept stopping for no apparent reason.  Three times.

During this time my friend graciously lent me his hot little red covertable Mustang with the 5.0 liter engine.  It was brutal on the gas mileage but I was grateful to have it’s use to say the least.  The advantage of having it was: 1. the ability to get from point A to point B with little effort, and 2. when I filled up with gas every hot young fuel jockey would come over to the car and treat me like I was Angelina Jolie.  They asked me questions and spouted out macho topics like how fast it could go and how quickly it hit 60 mph and how they’d just die if they had a convertible.

I relished the attention, being as I’m 50+, have lost count at the number of chins I have and can slap myself in the face by just raising my arm and waving.  We don’t even need to go into the fact that I can easily mistake a barn for a stop sign unless I have my glasses on.

Well, it was a fun time for a while.  Now my conservative little Beemer (she’s getting pretty old, too) has taken her place parked by my condo once again.  I needed to return the sassy little Mustang to it’s rightful owner and I wanted to do it with style.

I like to leave borrowed items in at least as good a condition (if not better) as they were when I borrowed them.  Value added.  I believe it’s a polite, responsible way to show gratitude and friendship.  Therefore, I thought I would detail the car as it seemed to need a good waxing and my friend has a white Papillion doggie that leaves long white hairs and other pieces of muck all over the black sheep-skinned interior.

I hadn’t actually detailed a car in a while, and certainly not one that is this low to the ground with an almost-non-existent back seat.  I set about collecting all of the appropriate tools, vinyl protectant, Armoral, Turtle wax, Windex, rags, etc.

My first stop was vacuuming out the interior at the local car wash.  I almost killed myself getting into the back seat (it was sprinkling a bit so the top had to stay up), but I made it finally, pulling the anaconda hose (that seems to only bend every 4 feet) with me.  The movements were difficult at best: confined space; 20 feet of 5″ wide coiled vacuum hose;  5′10″ tall woman that no longer bends where she used to; suction.  If any one had looked they would have seen something similar to a large cat fully inside a small fish bowl wiggling around with an angry look on his face.  I ended up with a cramp in my side and one in my left leg.  I also acquired several bruises in places that I am still unsure about.  The worst of it was the getting out.  When I finally maneuvered my way to the outside world I stood up and stepped backward to put the hose back on its rack never noticing that part of the hose was coiled up behind me on the ground.  I stepped straight on it, it turned (as round things do) and I fell flat on my back knocking the wind out of me temporarily.  Others who were vacuuming their cars came running.  I waved them off, not being able to speak, and smiled trying to assure them I was (with the exception of my pride) intact.   This was not pretty. 

Dusting myself off, I crawled back into the car and drove it through the car wash.  No problem.  I was half-way done (so I thought).  Back home to rest a bit and finish up.

One would think that a person in fair shape should not have to ‘rest a bit’ after something so mundane as vacuuming out a car and driving it through the car wash.  But I needed it.

On with the project.  After polishing the exterior and surface restoring the vinyl top I climbed in once again.  Cat-in-fish-bowl style I jambed knuckles and scraped knees, bruised and cramped my way with Armoral and Leather cleaner scouring every inch of the vehicle until it was in better-than-new shape.  By that time, the sun was going down I needed a shower, a chiropractor, band-aids, liniment, moisturizer, a masseuse, a pedicure, three glasses of water, Advil AND Tylenol, eye drops, a heating pad, a manicure, Q-tips for my ears (I don’t know HOW dirt got in there!), calcium tablets and a banana(for the muscle cramps), an ace bandage for my ankle, and three days of sleep, a cold compress for my head, and new clothes (what I wore was completely destroyed).

It’s murder getting old.  I just can’t remember something that should be simple being this complicated and disparaging.  I felt as though I had been with our troupes in Afghanistan, only not that good.

Approaching the Mustang to take it on it’s return trip to the rightful owner, I just glared at it.  It gleamed like a car had never gleamed before, but all I could think of was, “They shoot horses, don’t they?”.

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