Why size 22 panties and car washes just dont mix

We are still a marginally disorganized household. My clothes are in the room that Lottie sleeps in. Madame does not surface until 8:30 am. Darling son needs taking to nursery 3 days a week. Had a bad night with Lottie, so decided not to creep into her room lest I wake her up, but wear what I could find around the house. Ah, how I wished I was not so organised yesterday and put all the clothes away. After rummaging round in the washing machine, I found my gardening trousers and Stuarts top. I call it scarecrow fashion……I also remembered that there were some size 22 panties I had saved as dusting clothes. Decided that I had no choice, had to wear these clothes. Felt quite good, despite about 4 hours sleep. I told Stuart I was going to have the car washed after I dropped Cam off.

On my way to the nursery, decided that the most time efficient way was to drop car off for washing and take Cam to nursery by pram, as it was only a 2 min walk.

This particular carwash is manned by young men, all of whom look too thin and mean, to get a job at McDonalds and hence probably end up washing cars. Nice non threatening older looking man, obviously the manager of these reprobates comes over to ask what needed washing on the car. Told him to look at car and give it the full works. He said about £25. Eyes nearly popped out of head and I asked him to give me a breakdown, apparently it’s a £1 for every window, some minor charge for cleaning wheels, something called traffic degreaser blah blah. I think they must have polished it with personalised chamois for that price. Anyways, decided that haggling was getting me nowhere and toddler getting het up, I agreed.

Started to unpack pram from the boot. At this stage, I started feeling a draft. Quick check on the old trousers confirmed the worst, trousers were falling down. Decide that they wont fall too far, as pants will stop them. Wrong. Taking pram out of car pulls trousers lower still. As I take boy out of the car and try to put into the pram I feel the need to release one hand and hold trousers up. Putting a resistant, thrashing toddler into a pram is an artform in itself, without having to do it one handed.

By this time, my car is being driven away and then pressure hosed down. The boy then starts shrieking in delight, “oh dear, bye bye car”. This drew the unwanted attention of the other mean looking boys, who had nothing better to do than watch me struggle with boy, pram and trousers. To further add to my woes, the brakes on the pram jammed, leaving me no spare hands to investigate AND having to bend down even further.

Decided that I had had enough, bent down, released brake, said Bye Bye car very loudly, and hoped they would not be charging me double for the impromptu show I just provided.