Dear Goldilocks*,

Today I cleaned and washed you for the first time since you came into my life. That isn’t a big deal unless you remember that you came into my life in May 2007, 13 months ago. It shouldn’t surprise me then that I found:

around 15 hairpins

an apple and orange

multitudes of receipts

mango body spray

eight pens

four bandaids

a bracelet

four Panadol tablets

five dustpans of pebbles, sand, leaves and candy wrappers

and a penny.

I’m still not sure how that last item got there. Mummy has not cared for you the way she should have. I tried to make it up to you this afternoon with the much-overdue clean and wash. This is a big sacrifice, baby. It was cold outside. Because of water restrictions, I couldn’t use a hose. It was a bucket bath all the way for you, which meant that my hands froze even though I was wearing rubber gloves.

I also checked your oil all by myself. Technically I’ve checked it before, but I didn’t know how to put the dipstick back and had to get my dad to do it. But today I did the whole thing by myself. I did it so well, in fact, that my hands smelled like oil, and now, after two vigorous hand washings, it still smells bad. I feel like a man.

Love,

Devi

* Goldilocks is the much-beloved, though not-often-cleaned gold, 1990 Toyota Corolla.