Bad mother (one, OW), bad mother (two, OUCH), bad mother (three, YEEOW) … just 37 more lashes to go. I am punishing myself for traumatising my child.
At first, going through the car wash on the way home from a perfectly pleasant morning pottering around a Farmer’s Market sounded like, and was promoted by the responsible adults present at the time as, ‘An Exciting Adventure’. Things, however, quickly degenerated into A Very Bad Day for the Small Boy.
The whole process started harmlessly enough as a bit of soapy water was squirted onto the car. “Wooooo – look at that. Water!”, we cried, building the whole thing up to levels of drama usually reserved for Disney theme parks.
“Ninished?”, came a tiny, hopeful voice from the back. “No love, it hasn’t finished yet. It’s just getting going”, I offered as reassurance.
Then, the very bad thing happened. The brushes, until now lying harmless and dormant, pulsed into life and made their way towards us. Small Boy’s grip tightened on his beloved Ted-Ted. His bright blue eyes goggled at this revolving blue and red monster which was clearly about to consume the car and everyone in it. He shuffled to the very edge of his car seat. “Ninished. Ninished”, he shouted as the brushes thundered past his window, only to come back again a few seconds later.
I took hold of his hand, “It’s OK sweetie. Just some brushes cleaning Daddy’s car”. It was then that I started to feel very hot and realised that with no air conditioning due to the engine being turned off, we were sitting in a make-shift sauna, depriving ourselves of oxygen and traumatising our child. I was starting to wish the bloody thing would ‘ninish’ myself.
Brush trauma finally over, the hot air machine then whirred into life, making its way threateningly along the bonnet and, just before crashing through the windscreen, going upwards to creep menacingly over the roof. “NINISHHHHHHHHHED”, came a desperate cry.
After what seemed like an age, it stopped. The red arrow indicating that our ride of terror was over and we could now go on our merry way. I think we’ll be sticking to a mop and bucket in the drive from now on. Now, where was I. Oh yes. Bad mother (four, ARGH), bad mother (five, OW OW), bad mother (six, JESUS) ……