Wax On... Wax Off

Otherwise known as It's Like Having a Husband, Without... 

Right now my roommate is outside waxing his big, shiny, red pickup truck.  Last night while I was writing Start Hot... Finish Cold, Chuck opened up the door that leads to the garage and told me he was about to wash his truck. 

Have you ever washed your car by hand?

I've washed it with a wand at a car place?

That doesn't count.

The gauntlet was thrown.  I put my computer to sleep, took my weary body off the couch, walked outside, and grabbed a rag, dunking it in warm, sudsy water.  Chuck was kind enough to clean my tires with special manly tire-cleaning fluid; I put some elbow grease into removing the few bugs that had stuck to my front end since my last encounter with the wand.  Then, I scrubbed down the rest of the car before rinsing it with the hose.  I started to go inside, and Chuck called out:

Jen, you haven't dried it yet!  You've got to dry the car in Florida!  Otherwise, you get streaks on your car.  

Chuck, being Chuck, has a whole tub full of towels in the garage that are just for drying his truck once it's squeaky clean.  He showed me how to dry my car.  I was a good pupil, and my car was devoid of moisture in no time at all.  He told me he'd be waxing tonight if I was interested... and I was... but now... not so much.  I've had a really good day, catching up with an old friend and making a new one, doing a bit of writing... now I'm watching Ryan Reynolds in The Proposal, with those sad, dreamy eyes...

But, I digress. 

Chuck and I have talked at length about how well things have worked out with our roommate situation.  He often gives me advice on my occasional Match communications, we cook for each other, he takes out the trash and mows the lawn... it's like having a husband without... being a wife.  :-)  (Wicked laugh ensues...)  


Addendum:  The author is aware that there is so much more to a being a husband than taking out the trash, mowing the lawn... and other unmentionable activities... and if any of the author's single friends in My Small Town and the surrounding areas is looking for a wonderful, well-traveled, and extremely kind 46 year-old man, they need to drop the author a line.  Just because he's not the man for her,  doesn't mean he's not good for someone else equally wonderful.  :-)