Clean with Envy

My husband is a clean car snob. He is a stickler for cleaning the truck every time he gets out. If its natural habitat is not a vehicular ecosystem, then it's removed. When we travel in his truck, I always have plenty of room to spread out my magazines, books, pillows, and phone around me in my seat.  Now my car.....completely different story. My husband calls it the "Stank Wagon." Does it stank? Well, sometimes. It depends on how many banana peels the kids have composting in the back. I don't know how he would really even know what it smells like. There is so much crap in the passenger seat, piled up to the dash and into the floorboard, he rarely gets to ride. I guess it might smell like trail mix. Not because we left a bag of trail mix in there, but because of all the raisins, nuts, and Cheerios dropped at different times over the past year. A wisk broom could gather a nice lil' pile of trail mix that would fill one of the many Ziploc bags that have been shoved under the seats. While my husband's truck is always spotless, my car needs a complete interior overhaul. For years we've been talking about getting it detailed, but I have never gotten it cleaned out enough that the seats and carpets are accessible. I am not proud of the condition in which my car constantly resides, but cleaning it out is apparently not a priority. At this point in my life, I can blame the kids and how busy we are with them. Nine years ago, before kids, I guess my excuse for the messy car was laziness. As I drive here and there every day, I see the same year model SUV that I have- same color and everything. However, as I look closer, I notice a few things. Their back seats are raised and there are people sitting in them. You can see the back of the seats because they are not obscured by piled up objects, giant clothes baskets, or reusable shopping bags. A human is actually sitting in the front seat and they seem comfortable. They don't seem to be leaning to one side to sit on one butt cheek. Their legs appear to be fully outstretched, not drawn up to their chests because the floor is filled with junk. My shame grows as I glance around my car and pray that those Cleanies driving next to me don't look into my Crap Wagon. I hate those people because they remind me of my shortcomings. They cruise around with their gleaming consoles. Their carpets are the color that God intended, not dyed with some spilled drink or caked mud from last year's rainstorm. Their side windows are clear, not splattered with milkshake that was spread when a kid slammed the door when the shake was in the door's cup holder. I have, what I have deemed, Clean Car Envy. If only the Envy would spur some action. But it has not. And probably will not. So, at the last minute, don't ever ask me to drive you anywhere. Because it will take me at least 30 minutes to clean it out just enough let you in.