I think it's save to wash my car now. That is to say, I think my car will actually stay clean if I was it. For a while there it had been a losing battle.
A string of eighty degrees forced every tree, shrub, and flower into simultaneous bloom. The result was bright green pollen lying so thick on motor vehicles that it looked like every car and truck was growing fur.
I first noticed the fuzzy coating even before I left the house one morning. A nearby streetlamp provided just enough illumination for me to see the roof of my car looked like it was sporting a buzz cut. I half expected I would be able to feel short strands of - something - brush against my palm should I run my hand just above the metal of the car.
That very evening I swiped my debit card at the local car wash, chose the super bubbly option, and pulled forward to let scrubbing bubbles and water jets do their work.
I arrived home the proud owner of a shiny clean car - and woke the next day to discover I would need to take my vehicle to the barber shop.
At least I didn't feel like I was the object of attention on my way to work. Every car I passed had the same brilliant green hair as mine.
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