Pr3++yG33kyTh1ng

Speaking as someone who poured coffee on his shoe from a cracked carafe this morning, Tuesday is likely going to suck.
It isn't as if every garment in my wardrobe isn't infused with rich, acidic arabica essence already, but it is the thought that even coffee, the only one who truly understands me, attempted this betrayal.
The cup I poured after correctly directing the stream seems to have little crunchy bits of something (glass?) in it, but I already added half-and-half so that it is the proper color. It would be a shame to waste it, even if the taste is rapidly becoming a tad . . . bloody.
On my way in, I varied my normal routine. I fear change, and at times this fear is justified. In fact, every time this fear is justified.
I filled my tank at the neighborhood Conoco. I suppose the cheerful 60s pop retching from the loud speakers lowered my resistance, because when prompted for a car wash, I folded like a cheap dish towel.
Do I want a car wash? Sure!
Supreme $5 car wash? Absolutely!
I wheeled my car around back and entered the sixteen digit access code. The green light beckoned me forward and I complied.
Please understand that this is the first time since I bought the car that I'd been through this process. The thick coating of highway construction grime and actual mud had left me driving the only grayish brown sport coupe I'd ever seen, or even the tortuous strains of The Mamas and the Papas would not have convinced me.
I triple checked the windows and sunroof and watched as the multi-colored foam coated the glass. I couldn't see much, but I guess the touchless wash made thirty or forty passes and finished with a wax and spot free rinse.
I drove the rest of the way to work, anxious to step out and gaze upon the sparkling glory of my car renewed.
When I arrived in the garage at work, what greeted me was not a mirror finish, but a layer of wax on top of the same grime I'd left home with this morning. And my left rear center cap had been smashed out of my still filthy wheel, shattered bits of plastic left hanging pathetically in the spring mechanism which previously held it in place.
Next time I will leave well-enough alone.
Road grime is a badge of honor my friends, and I was wrong to attempt to stash that badge like I was trying to sneak it through airport security.