Elbow Grease

My mom-van finally glistened in the growing darkness. I dropped the dirty blue cloth into my washing supplies and put one hand on my hip with pride. Evening is the only time I am free long enough to clean my vehicle. 

My brother pulled up in the driveway at that exact moment. He gave me the usual cursory glance and informed me that I should be doing waterless car washes.  

This was my moment to shine. “I just did!” I called out to make sure he heard my accomplishment. 

His only reaction was a side glance as he walked into the house. 

I huffed to myself. “Pfffft. Whatever.” 

He came back out a few minutes later and mumbled, “What are you using, anyway?”   

Pushing the bottle into his hand, I took a step back and watched him read it carefully. 

“This isn’t a waterless car wash,” he stated grimly. “It’s a detail spray.  What you use after your car is clean.”  

A look of horror froze onto my face. No way. No no no.  I snatched the bottle from him and stared at the words written plainly across the top: “Spray Detail.”

Oh. My. Goodness.  Can I please just crawl into the heap of unfolded laundry on my bed and go to sleep? You know what? I still don’t even understand Spray Detail.  What I DO know is that I let my kids starve so I could detail my dirty mom-van. All for nothing. Pffffft.

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