Gloovy blob

I've probably mentioned this before, but "gloovy" is a term invented by my dad, the word inventor, for describing things that are icky sticky.

So there I was yesterday, shopping in Fair Oaks, dodging the town roosters that strut the streets as if they own the place, which they do.  The only available parking spot I found was under a tree, so I took it and went into the quilt shop, my mission a quilting hoop.  The mission was unsuccessful -- "We don't carry hoops because they take so much space" -- and I was a mile up the road toward home when I noticed a big blob on the passenger side windshield.

Not only was this blob big, it was GLOOVY.  It looked as if someone had chewed a date and spit it out on my windshield. a half-inch thick brown chewed-up blob draining brown juices down the glass.  Of course the traffic was terrible, and I couldn't pull over to get rid of it.  Of course the rain had stopped, so it couldn't be washed away.

The gloovy blob grew bigger in my thoughts.  I was like Adrian Monk spotting a crooked picture.  The blob began to consume me.  I imagined it turning into a carmel-like substance, the longer I drove and it dried.  I couldn't ignore it. It was like talking to a handsome man who has peanut butter on his cheek, a stunning woman with a long hair on her chin, or sitting behind a stranger whose clothing label is showing above her neckline.  You can hardly keep from wiping (handy tissue), trimming (handy scissors), or turning (handy hands).  At least for those things you have tools, but you are restrained, often, not wanting to embarrass the offenders.

And you can't stop looking.

The gloovy blob consumed me.  It impeded my vision, made me as much a danger on the road as texting since it took so much of my visual and mental attention. I had to hold myself back from trying the wipers, remembering all too well the time we had hit a swarm of bees, putting an immediate stop to our forward momentum when, on turning on the wipers, the entire windshield turned an opaque yellow.  If this was a date-like substance, wipers might well spread it all over, impede visibility, and render my temporary insanity complete.  I had no tool, short of stopping and using a credit card, to remove it.  I didn't want glooviness on my credit card.

Ten miles later, the blob is still there.  Rain threatens, blessed rain, but it's not falling yet.  The blob fills my mind.  How dare it be on my car?  Ruin my day?  Ten more miles.  Five more.  It looks like rain ahead.  I think it is!  Five miles from home raindrops hit my windshield fast enough to aid me in my mind-cleaning quest:  I squirt the windshield with quarts of water, run the wipers, and after two miles of hard work, the wipers have the glass completely clean.

Ahhhhh...  I feel so much better.

Arrived home.  Got out of the car.  What's this?  My car is COVERED with gloovy blobs.  I don't know why I hadn't noticed those on the hood.  The top, doors, trunk, all well decorated with blobs.

So there I am, hosing my car down in the rain when the neighbor drives by.  He pauses momentarily, then proceeds.  If he had gloovy blobs on his car, he would be out in the rain washing his car, too.