Sometimes I think I should wash my car.
The rest of the time I use the fact that I live in Oregon to justify not washing my car.
See, it rains here.
And driving through rainy day after rainy day after – is that sun?… nope… nevermind – after rainy day is kind of like driving through a car wash all the time.
That’s what I tell myself.
Unfortunately, some joker around these parts set the everlasting cosmic car wash cycle to Drizzle. So my car’s perpetual layer of dirt isn’t ever technically removed. It’s more like the grime is moistened.
And, also, I’m a lazypants. But mostly it’s that whole “the rain should do it” thing. I swear.
Then there are times I think I should get my gutters cleaned. Something about how they’re full of dirt, leaves, and those miniature, plastic parachute guys we shot up there this summer.
But that involves picking up the phone.
Then the most amazing thing happened.
We had a genuine deluge! Right here in Oregon. The misty drizzle turned to showers. The showers turned to rain. And the rain turned torrential. It was a downpour fit for a monsoon.
And the deluge hit us in earnest right as I pulled my car under our overflowing gutters…
…and through our garage door. The pitter on our car roof was less patter and more SLAM BANG BOOM!
The children were as terrified as I was delighted. Because that right there was two birds with one very lazily tossed stone, baby! Overflowing gutters? Justified! Grime-laden car? Flushed clean!
Schadenfreude or serendipity? It’s so very hard to choose just one word.
(And, um, Michael? I’m sorry you had to see this. I promise I’ll call you soon.)