A few days ago the family truck breathed its last and departed this world. It had a special place in our heart; it was the vehicle that I brought my youngest son home from the hospital in. With over 100,000 miles and a blown transmission, we decided to part company with it, tighten our belts and look for another vehicle.
After a few days of searching, John came home and announced that we were now the owners of a 1993 GMC Jimmy. We had decided to go the used car route because we didn't want another car payment. My joy was short-lived when we went to the garage to aquite my new wheels. The body was good, but color was an eggshell white, and was in dire need of a wax job.
Maybe the interior will be better, I hoped. Wrong. The interior looked like it had never seen a vacume, and the stale smell of body odor permiated through the whole auto. I've had used cars in the past, but never one this filthy. Still, the eternal optimist, I thought the small SUV had promise.
John walked to the door, stuck his head in, and wrinkled his nose. "Let's get this thing detailed. . .today!" I was glad that hubby and I were on the same wave-length. The motor to my new ride purred like a kitten as I drove it to the detail place.
A few hours later, the detail shop called us and let me know that the Jimmy was ready. When we arrived, I couldn't see the vehicle anywhere. Surely it hasn't been stolen. A grundgy young man approached me, handed me a set of keys and told me that the Jimmy was ready.
"Okay, where is it?"
"You're standing beside it," the guy laughed. I turned around in shock. I was standing beside a gleaming off-white GMC.
"This can't be mine."
"Oh but it is." The young man showed me the inside. A pattern. . .beneath all the filth my interior had a pattern! The whole Jimmy smelled fresh and sweet, and I thoroughly enjoyed the drive home in it. Remarkable what a little soap and water can accomplish.
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