Who wouldn’t pay £10 to have fit, straight, Russian men
squirt their soapy hoses at you? It’s
every housewife’s dream, surely.
 |
| Lisa VDP would do it with a bit of PANACHE |
**********
If I were living in LA then every time I went to a glamorous
hotel or eatery (which would be frequently), some nice gentleman, possibly
wearing a hat and white gloves, would whisk my car away with a knowing nod and
a $20 bill in hand. He’d park it and
probably have it cleaned at the same time, returning it to me gleaming, engine running,
just after I’d had my coffee and petit-fours.
But for now, I am to be content with not really going out
for dinner and when the car is absolutely covered in mud and stinking to high
heaven of dog, taking it to a drive-through hand car wash in the rough end of
Battersea next door to a Maccy Ds.
So clearly, I saw the advantage in delegating this dreadful task
to hubby for fear of Giggy and I being kid/dognapped and held to ransom in an
unsavoury part of town. But after being
forced to go last year with the threat of divorce looming over me, I realised
that what this so-called "car wash" lacked in glamour, it certainly made up for in general
hotness.
As you drive up, careful not to injure someone or even more
embarrassingly, to stall, a brace of hot guys start lunging all over me … erm …
all over the car, I mean. Spewing foam
all over my bonnet and windshield, t-shirts riding up to reveal taught midriffs
as they reach for my windscreen wipers, ruthlessly buffing my hubcaps.
They shout out in Russian to each other, barking orders in
broken English at me. Drive
forward. Stop. Back. Engine
off. Engine on. Come on.
Further … more … more! And
somehow their total lack of interest in me just makes it even hotter. They don’t care. One is being roughly serviced. “Woof!”, barks Giggy, from the back. Well, quite.
I’m telling you – for a tenner, it’s well worth it. You also get a clean car at the end of
it. Your appetite whetted, its time to
pop next door for a quarter pounder with cheese. Large chips.
And that’s Drive Thru too.
Pure filth. But very LA.
