I was digging through my pocketbook for my “One FREE car wash!” card when I heard the kissing.
“Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”
It came from the woman ahead of me in line. I could only see her back, but she was tanned, curvy and blonde, wearing a white babydoll t-shirt and short-shorts. I immediately forgot the free car wash and considered instead 1) the freedom of sportswear a really good figure can give you, and 2) whether or not this gal was wearing any underwear.
Just then the blonde threw a Chihuahua onto her shoulder. For a quick moment I thought she was going to burp it, but she only kissed its neck several times.
“Mwah! My baby!” she crooned as her dog quivered and trembled. “Don’t be nervous! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! It’s just an old car wash!”
The line moved forward, prompting me to start digging around for my card again. All kissing and lack of underwear aside, who wants to pay for a car wash when they have a perfectly good free pass in their pocketbook… somewhere?
Just then the blonde whipped around, stunning me with one absolutely perfect bosom, barely contained within an ultra-low scoop neck.
“Do you own dogs?” she asked.
I hoped I’d averted my eyes quickly enough. “Yes!”
“Aren’t they great?”
“Oh, yes!” I nodded emphatically. “They’re great!”
She grinned and turned to face the cashier. “Pump No. 3!”
The cashier’s eyes widened until they looked like the cup lids by the soda machine. A man in a suit who was looking over the road map display also seemed transfixed. Both watched as the blonde struggled to open her handbag while holding her dog.
“Darn!” she said. She put down her handbag, pulled open the neck of her t-shirt, and tucked in the trembling pooch. The Chihuahua gave a contented sigh, echoed faintly by the cashier and Mr. Suit.
“He was cold!” laughed the blonde, handing her money to the cashier.
“Aw-w-w,” the cashier said hopefully.
“He gets cold so easily!” the blonde told Mr. Suit.
“Poor little pup,” sympathized Mr. Suit. “A Chihuahua?”
She laughed. “Yes! He’s a Chihuahua! Aren’t you, baby! Mwah!”
The cashier gave her a receipt, no doubt cursing his inability to make canine small talk. The blonde turned to Mr. Suit.
“Wanna pet him?”
The cashier and I froze. Mr. Suit’s mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly. Or at least, his hand did. It popped up, hovered briefly over the dog’s head, then moved in.
“Nice doggy,” he cooed, finally connecting with a pat on the pup’s head. “Nice, nice— doggy!” The Chihuahua made a little rattle, like the noise you hear if you hold the toaster lever down too long.
“Oh!” laughed the blonde. “He’s so protective! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Aren’t you, baby?”
She waved good-bye and sailed out of the lobby, the dog still tucked into her bosom, a hairy figurehead secured to the prow of a well-built schooner.
Mr. Suit wandered dazedly out the other side of the lobby. The cashier jumped when I pushed my credit card into his open hand. He completed the transaction and chuckled as he asked me for my signature, and I chuckled as I signed it.
In fact, I kept on chuckling until I sat down to wait for my car and realized my free car wash card was still in my pocketbook. Somewhere.