Murphy's Car Wash Law

My Bichon Frise Coqui says "I didn't do it!"

I washed my car Sunday for the first time in, oh, two or three decades, maybe.

Back before I became a poor senior citizen, my 2005 baby blue baby was always garaged and always detailed by Atlanta's number one car wash.  Dirt didn't have a chance to settle on the shiny metallic surface before it was shampooed off in the all-rag luxury shower at Cactus Car Wash.

These days, I have no garage.  I have no money to fritter away on precarious luxuries.  And I have no shame.  So out came the bucket, the mild detergent, the old bath towels and the leaky garden hose, because I could no longer ignore the thickening trail dust and oak tree excretions befouling the once-pampered vehicle sitting in the elements outside my rented townhouse door.

Now, we all know how these things work.  Want it to rain?  Leave your umbrella at home.  Or wash your car. Don't tell me you've never noticed this law.  It's got to be some kind of a law, because I can count on one hand the number of times I have had the car washed and it hasn't rained within 48 hours, at the most.

This time I tried to beat the odds by checking not one, but three weather forecasts – the Weather Channel, the Internet and a newspaper.  All I could see were pictures of sunlight, with nary a cloud in sight.  The earliest rain in the forecast was far into next week. Surely the odds were in my favor.

Since I am within two weeks of being 67 years old, it is not wise for me to expend huge quantities of energy frivolously.  For one thing,  I don't have huge quantities of energy to expend.  More like miniscule spurts.  And my recovery time is such that I wouldn't be able to repeat the task comfortably for another month.  By then my foot should have stopped throbbing, my shoulders would have unlocked their muscles and my back would allow me to walk to the storage shed to retrieve the bucket again.

I soaped her up lovingly, enjoying the spectacle of soap against dirt. I used an old toothbrush on the wheel rims to release the sooty brake dust. I went over the whole car twice, rinsed it thoroughly and dried it with Downy-infused bath towels whose colors no longer served my purposes. That step back we all take to admire our great work was supremely satisfying.

The very last thing I was expecting when I threw open the front door this morning to leave for my semi-annual dental appointment was to see beads of water dancing in the sunlight on the hood of my car.  The pavement was wet in spots, but not all over the parking lot.  Dammit!  I thought the automatic sprinklers had somehow caused the crime, but a quick inspection proved me wrong. Besides, now that I thought about it, the back patio floor had been wet, too.

Looking around the parking lot, I was not able to find one other car that was similarly doused.  What the…????  There was no other explanation.  It had happened again.

I don't know if this is a phenomenon reserved only for certain states, but this is the only place I've been besides Honolulu where it can rain in one spot while the sun shines brightly all around me.  One charcoal gray cloud will roll in like a drunk and take a random leak long enough to make a mess, but quietly enough to go unnoticed.

Have you noticed how much better your car runs after it has been washed?  Mine was still in a pretty good mood, so the trip to the dentist was pretty smooth.   Until I forgot the dentist had moved.