what's this?

Or Why My Car Smells Great Today But Will Smell Totally Gross By Sunday.

If you were to look closely, you might be able to discern a maraschino cherry wedged into my passenger side seatbelt socket.

See, I was buying some stuff at Target. And the Target in my little town in near the Chik-Fil-A. Wanting to squeeze every second of freedom and alone time out of this childless errand, but at the same time wanting to be kind to The World's Best Husband, I decided to stop and get us milkshakes.

The drive-through was crazy; being childless, I could blithely PARK MY CAR! and LEAVE IT! And WALK INTO A PLACE. By myself. So I did. I got two - chocolate for him, Cookies and Cream for me, complete with tons of whipped cream and a cherry. (I think I may like the whipped cream better than the milkshake. When I was pregnant, and being accomodated by everyone on the earth, I regularly ate the whipped cream - all of it - off other people's desserts and Starbucks'. I didn't eat dessert myself - just everyone's whipped cream. What an ass.) Anyway, the nice people at Chik-Fil-A tucked my shakes into the 2-shake carrier, which I nestled into the seat (they're too big for my cup holders) and drove home.

I made it almost all the way. But when I tool the left at Pilgrim's Landing a little too quickly, the holder tumbled, and the chocolate shake lost its dome top, leaving a little dune of whipped cream across my seat.

My thoughts at this point, all within a split-second:
1. Fuck.
2. Well, most of his shake is still in there. It's just the whipped cream.
3. Mine tipped over but seems mostly intact.
4. mmmmmm, whipped cream...

and without thinking, I reached down and scooped up a portion of the spill with my cupped hand. Yes, and smeared it into my mouth. Look, I'm not PROUD of this, I'm just telling you what happened.

And while it happened, my attention was momentarily diverted (mmmmm) and I drifted into the other lane.

Nothing happened - I didn't hit anything.

But, figuring that I really should be in my own lane, I jerked the wheel quite suddenly.

And that's when my shake fell over a second time and dumped out between the seats. And across my shirt and shorts. I already has some on my NECK from the whipped cream-scooping a moment before.

And then I was home.

I wiped up the seats and floormats with the paper towels that I keep in my car (it will surprise no one to hear that this is not the first spill in the front seat, though it may be the most extensive.) I walked into the house, sheepishly handed Eric his two-thirds of a milkshake, and continued up to the shower without a word.

Anyway, the Prius smells frickin' awesome, but a couple more hundred-degree days will sour the upholstery.

At least, that's what happened after the Latte Incident.