A clean car? Inconceivable!

Today I decided I delayed cleaning the car for long enough. Fifteen pounds of gravel and pennies had accumulated under my feet while heart attack sacks piled up on the passenger side floor. It was quite a disgrace, and I knew I needed to take the time to cull crap out and organize. In addition, my mother - the rightful owner - would be driving Beulah the Buick tomorrow so it needed to be at least a little closer to her standards than mine.

Grabbing the foam carpet cleaner (did I forget to mention unidentifiable stains on the seats, with only some correlating to the fast food trash?), a rag and refuse bags, I flung open the driver side door and began in earnest. I didn't quite finish with the same enthusiasm, but over the course of forty-five minutes, I picked out the gravel, sifted through and found pennies, dimes, and the key to the storage unit (score!), several pens, a chapstick missing its cover (gnarly!) and something that may have been a living organism at one point. Okay, that was bad even for me.

After scraping off the floor and scrubbing out the seats, I organized the glove compartment. Maps, take-out menus, owner's manual and CURRENT registration and proof of insurance all neatly organized, in case there happens to be another unexpected visit with the local police department. Now, I just have to tackle the back seat after items bound for the Monday auction are unloaded, vacuum the heck out of the ol' girl and she'll be almost as good as new. Or as good as new as a car can look when it has transported me around.