One weekend during the summer, Pappa Starbucks informed me as we were out and about, that he was going to run by the carwash. I grew up on scrub-your-own carwashes, and thought nothing of it.
Ten minutes later, I realized we were being lathered up from beyond at an automatic carwash.

Little Berry did not like it one bit. The thumping, whacking sounds of something hitting our car? The gushing water? She immediately began flipping out.

We reassured her with lots of Trader Joe's bbq chips,

and music.

By the time it was over, she was ready to go again.

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