"I'm sending you a picture. Don't freak out."

A married couple of 37 years can call each other on the phone this way.

It could mean a cell phone shot of a winning lottery ticket. Or not.

Last week, it was Or Not.

I was standing in a dark office with my co-workers pondering the power outage that had just occurred when Brad called on my cell phone.

"I'm sending you a picture. Don't freak out." Click.

C'mon lottery ticket! Baby needs new shoes!

It was not to be. Instead I opened this -- a sad picture of  a somewhat mangled Go-Kart, our sporty little red Honda Civic. Aside from some pretty impressive Technicolor bruises on his left arm and a stiff  neck courtesy of air bag deployment, Brad was okay. And that's the important thing. Period.

It was the other driver's fault. And miraculously she had insurance -- something I can't say about the two fender benders I've been involved in. (BOTH were the other drivers' faults, OKAY!?) Even better, both insurance companies have been champs. And yesterday, the Insurance People declared the Civic totalled.

It's not an easy loss, the most obvious, and annoying, piece is that we're back into a car payment of some sort. But on another level. . . . it was my step-dad Frank's get-about car down in Portland for years until we bought it from him and The Mom Unit as they downsized a few years back. Frank's gone now -- he died five years ago this Labor Day weekend -- but The Go-Kart was one of his special gems -- we still have all the service records with notes in his handwriting. It's hard to watch a small pocket of happy memories towed away in the rain along with a little red car.

And one other completely different, superficial note: Despite it's humble origins as a Civic hatchback, the Go-Kart was fire engine red and kicked ass.

Truth be told, and shhhh, only now I can confess, the Go-Kart and I totally ripped up the road on a couple driving trips between Bermtopia and Portland -- country western and/or NPR (now THERE'S an oxymoron) cranking from the radio because the car didn't have *gasp* a CD player. It was a 5-speed but the GK could haul.

Poor Go-Kart, you'll be missed. You were special, even coated in bird poop.

And we'll always have Mister Car Wash.

Out and About: Mister Car Wash

Out and About" is a an ongoing project I throw out there to document some of the unique, quirky and/or totally fabulous aspects of living in the fair city of Bermtopia.

Oh. And I should mention I don't get paid to write about these joints. (Does this blog look like we get paid to write about anything?

It's just me, sharing my profoundly deep knowledge of all things Bermtopian with the world.

Some day, you'll thank me.

I am a total car wash geek. There. I've said  it. I love car washes.

As a kid, the high point of my 6-year-old day was when my mom took me with her to get her blue Nash Rambler washed at the local self-serve. I loved the physics-defying (in my mind) metal track and pulley that hauled vehicles through the watery gauntlet of jumbo brushes and mops. I loved watching the car wash soap sea-foam across the car windows, filling all the mysterious nooks and crannies of windshield and hood. And I loved the car's subtle shudder -- akin to someone giving me a gentle shove to wake up -- when the steaming, lazer-like streams of rinse water hit the sides of our car.

Things haven't changed much in 53 years. I just can't help myself. I love car washes.

I'm sure there's medical explanation for it.

And speaking of car washes. . . the best car wash, the Xanadu of car washes, the Valhalla of car washes, the Machu Pichu of all car washes, is Bermtopia's own Mister Car Wash perched between Division-Ruby Street couplet just a wash rag's throw from the South Hill.

Here are the top 10 reasons why Mister Car Wash is bombest of the bomb in my books:

10. Khaki and polo shirts: Winter, spring, summer, fall you'll find Mister Car Wash attendants decked out in jaunty Mister Car Wash polos and khakis. It's sort of like pulling into a country club for dirty cars.

9. FREE pop corn.

8. Drive-through or full-serve? Unless I am in a bodacious hurry, which I generally try to avoid at all cost, I use full-serve.

Have you lost sight of that fine Corinthian leather in the haze of dog hair and Egg McMuffin crumbs you call the interior of your car? Gone with a wave of a Mister Car Wash power vac.

Do small birds stick to your windshield because of the pitch you've accumulated thanks to the 100-foot pine tree growing right next to your driveway? The small army of Mister Car Wash car dry-ers and polishers who swarm your car as it emerges from the wash can take care of the majority of deposits -- and recommend product for the stubborn ones that remain.

7. Free POP corn.

6. Greeting cards: Why stop at the pine-scented air freshener shaped like a Christmas tree? Pick up a few Christmas cards as well at the Mister Car Wash gift shop while you're at it. Boo-yah!

5. Free pop CORN.

Note the Mister Car Wash T-shirt. That's the Summer Look.

4. Professionalism: Don't worry about the messy state of your car. Mister Car Wash attendants are unflappable. They have seen everything. Well, almost everything.

3. FrEe PoP cOrN.

2. And, oh, have I mentioned Mister Car Wash provides FREE POP CORN?

1. But the number-one reason why Mister Car Wash is bomb-est of the bomb? They sell ART -- in the restrooms to boot. Don't know about you, but I'm always on the look-out for eye-catching etchings when I'm in the loo. The concept is nothing short of genius.

No wait.

Mister Car Wash is nothing short of genius.