12/22/2025
LOL! We love when furry friends come and visit the car wash! We have treats! 😁😁🐶
I have a clean car exterior, but the interior now looks like a crime scene involving slobber.
Yesterday (Saturday), I made a calculated risk. My SUV was covered in road salt and mud. It looked like a glazed donut rolled in dirt.
I decided to take it to the automatic car wash.
"Moose loves car rides," I reasoned. "He’ll just look out the window. It’ll be like an underwater aquarium adventure."
I have never been more wrong in my life.
We pulled up to the "Tunnel of Suds."
Moose was in the backseat, happy, sticking his nose out the crack in the window.
Then, the attendant guided us onto the track.
CLUNK.
The car je**ed forward.
Moose’s ears went up. He looked at me.
“Mother. The vehicle has been seized by a ghost. Why are you not steering?”
Phase 1: The Pre-Soak
The water jets turned on.
PSSSHHHHHT.
Moose flinched. He looked at the window.
Then, the "Lava Foam" started. Thick, pink and blue sludge began to slide down the windshield.
To you and me, it’s soap.
To Moose, we were being digested by a neon amoeba.
He let out a whine that sounded like a teakettle.
He pressed his nose against the glass, trying to see through the pink goo.
“WE ARE BLIND! THE PINK SLIME HAS TAKEN US!”
Phase 2: The Brushes
Then came the spinning brushes.
Giant, wet, flapping monoliths slapping the side of the car. THWACK-THWACK-THWACK.
Moose lost his mind.
He decided the car was under attack by giant sea monsters.
He didn't hide. He fought back.
He barked at the window. ROOF! ROOF!
He lunged at the glass, trying to bite the spinning brushes through the safety of the door.
THUMP. His head hit the glass.
SLIME. His jowls smeared a layer of drool across the inside of the window that rivaled the soap on the outside.
He ran from the left window to the right window.
Left: Bark at the blue monster!
Right: Bark at the red monster!
The car was rocking. I was in Neutral, praying the track wouldn't derail.
"It's okay! It's just a bath!" I yelled.
He looked at me with wild eyes. “A BATH? THIS IS A BEATING, MOTHER!”
Phase 3: The Wax & Rinse
The water sprayed again. The rinse cycle.
Moose was panting now. He was pacing the backseat, trampling my reusable grocery bags.
He was checking the perimeter.
“The monsters have retreated. But the water remains.”
The Climax: The Air Dryers
We reached the end of the tunnel.
The giant blowers turned on.
VROOOOOOOOOOOOM.
If Moose hates vacuums (which he does), imagine a vacuum the size of a jet engine screaming directly at the car.
The air pressure hit the windshield. The water droplets raced backward.
Moose panicked.
He decided the backseat was no longer safe. He needed to be with the Pilot.
He climbed over the center console.
Now, I was in the driver's seat. Moose is 165 pounds.
He tried to sit on my lap.
While the car was moving.
While the blowers were screaming.
"Moose! Get back!"
I was crushed against the steering wheel. I had a giant paw on the gear shift. I had a wet nose in my ear.
He buried his face in my neck, trembling, while the air dryer sounded like the apocalypse.
The Aftermath
We exited the tunnel. The sun was shining. The car was sparkling clean.
I pulled into a parking spot to assess the damage.
The outside of the car? Spotless.
The inside?
The windows were coated in a thick, opaque layer of "panic drool."
There were nose prints everywhere.
The center console had a scratch.
And Moose was sitting in the passenger seat (which he stole), looking traumatized, breathing heavily.
He looked at me. He looked at the clean car.
He let out a long, shaky sigh.
“We survived the Rainbow Tunnel, Mother. But never ask me to speak of it again.”
I spent 20 minutes wiping the inside of the windows with a napkin.
Moose is currently refusing to get into the car. He thinks it’s a trap.
I guess we’re walking to the park from now on.
