Getting up early in the morning on a weekend to wash the truck is bad enough. Doing the job single-handedly is a time consuming exercise that, with all the washing and towel-drying, actually resembles, well, exercise.
But the fact that my local car-wash is located behind a donut shop cooking up the first, warm, fresh, delicious-smelling, drool-inducing batch of the day as I’m doing it?
Well, that’s just a sick form of sugary torture.


