| rev:text
| - Every other election cycle, it's time to clean my car. She's old enough to vote, but I can't very well take her into town looking all rode-hard-put-away-muddy, so off to Dynamic Detailing.
Most places charge three or so hundred for a full detailing, but Dynamic had a hundred dollar special. Right up my alley. (Turned out to be one-twenty, because instead of just dirt they were elbow deep in topsoil with this pig. Yeah, I know, I should have been tidier. It is not my nature.)
Nice shop, which could probably have about six or eight vehicles at one time being shined up all purty-like. They could go a bit lighter on the Armor All; I had to fight to keep the steering wheel from slipping through my hands. The aluminum wheels had acquired a patina of filth, baked on by the brake rotors' red-hot glow. What do they do? Acid wash. Huh. Never thought about that. (I was considering some flat-black spray paint. Glad I held off.)
Dynamic isn't easy to find. Listen carefully to the directions when you call, or you'll end up in East Bumspimple or, worse, Jeb's Hollow. You do NOT want to be there. Trust me. Six months later, I still can't sleep well.
|