Woman shall not wash cars

I've concluded (to the man): to wash a car is not a woman's job.

Saturday, after bringing the two girls to the beach for a quick swim with their three boyfriends, I thought they would be quicky tired out and conk out for the rest of the day. Which would leave me pretty much free to do much else without feeling guilty. Like washing the car, a chore that the man and I had agreed upon together but never really got down to it due to all sorts of excuses - which all stemmed from one fact: we were plain lazy.

After showering the two girls (an easy task this day because they had no resistance whatsoever), I looked at the clock. It was exactly twelve noon. Then I looked out the window. No clouds in sight, it was blazing hot, just like it had been for the past few weeks. I fickled for a while - should I (I should because it's been a task delayed too long), shouldn't I (I shouldn't because I would grump and frump under the sun and I would be so tired out I would have no more energy for much else - like searching for the man's gift - for the rest of the afternoon)? I thought I should, in the end, and started filling out the pail with water. And that was all I was planning - to wash the car, a neglected vehicle left to the dirt and dust of the weather and roads for more than a month, with only one pail of fresh water.

Reason #1 why women are not born to wash cars: the damn pail of water was so freakin' heavy, I had to grit my teeth and lug the load (plus all the other stuff like the vacuum and the bottles of cleaners and all the cloths) up the stairs to the elevator to the car. But being the proud woman that I am, I attributed it to the fact that I've not been training for a while and have lost some strength in my arms.

With much strategic planning, I proceeded to washing the interior of the car first, because I knew I would end up with no more clean water for this task. The interior was dirtier than I thought, and by the time the seats were done, the pail was half full with quite-filthy water. I thought, I should just sponge the exterior with just water, and no detergent. But by the time I was done with this, the body and the windows were all spotted with dirty marks. And the pail was empty. I couldn't live with the dirty spots, so I did what a woman ought to do.

I carried my empty pail, and walked over to the men's room at the gas station next door, and ambushed the next man that came out of the room: "'Cuse me, can you help me get some water pleeeeease?" *Sweet smile* while cussing the absence of my man under my breath.

See, only the men's room at the gas station is left unlocked. For safety reasons perhaps, the ladies' room is always locked and to want to use it, you have to go up to the counter, ask for the key from the counter, unlock the bledy door before you can relieve yourself, no matter how high your tide may be, and then remember to return the key. Somehow, the men's room is left open such that you can even take water from it freely by the buckets. Taxi uncles and most men are seen around this area, busy retrieving water for their car-washing.

Shamelessly, I thanked the man who helped me with the water, and went back to my car. After the dirty spots were cleaned out, the car gleamed with shine once more and the pail was now half left with clean water now. Not wanting to waste the water, and as if one hour under the sun wasn't enough, I decided I should clean out the wheels as well.

Which was a bad move, because not only did this additional task take me an additional hour, I had to bother another reluctant uncle to help fill out the pail with water for a second time. What was I thinking of doing in the first place with just one pail of water?!?

And all the while during the two hours that I was washing the car, men who walked by or drove past stopped to look and they seemed to be wondering, Hmmm, why is this poor dirty-looking girl washing a car all by herself? And it sure didn't help that a little further away, a couple was washing their car and after a while, the girl stopped and sat on a stool, seeking cool solace under a tree while her man continued the job.

The fruit of labor was sweet though. The car shone with pride again, so did the wheels. The owner trudged upstairs back home, dumped the dirty cloths in a pail, took a quick shower and fell asleep swiftly, forgetting all about her man's gift. But not forgetting to remind him that a car wash is definitely not a woman's job.