Just outside Quiet Belgian Village, on the Big Road (yes really, that’s what it’s called), is a car wash. Now don’t imagine a fully automatic car wash, but simply a long roof with a row of semi-open sheds beneath it, separated by fences, in which you wash your own car. The Maakster had just hosed down her car and drove it outside to clean the interior with a vacuum cleaner.
A dark blue BMW, model expensive, arrived in the shed next to her. The vehicle looked as if it could have been cleaned at home in less than two minutes with a dust cloth. A couple of twenty-somethings (f/m) got out, who didn’t exactly look like people who were about to wash a car. The Maakster, in an old pair of jeans and with water-resistant old shoes on her feet, looked rather shabby in comparison.
The slender, muscular man wore baggy khaki floor-length trousers, and beneath them large trainers in gleaming white and silver. An almost glowing white shirt stretched around his chest, and his neatly gel-styled hair was held in place by silver-lens sunglasses. The man was clean-shaven and it wouldn’t have surprised The Maakster if his eyebrows were also plucked and a light foundation had been applied to his face.
The slender build woman wore white net curtain-like trousers, with flared legs, the ends of which dragged on the floor despite her dangerously high heels. The pants were see-through and a white triangle at the back suggested a tiny piece of underwear. Her sleeveless top was also white and purposely a size too small, so that it clung to her leased perky breasts. Her blond wavy hair was styled with care and her face was hidden under a layer of makeup. Her lips permanently pouted.
When the man washed the ‘dirty’ car fanatically, it seemed as if the woman was fidgeting with her phone. On closer inspection, she was intently filming her car-washing partner. After a while, he stopped the water jet, so she could get a tripod from the car to mount her phone on before she continued filming.
A while later, as The Maakster put the vacuum cleaner away, the couple switched positions. She put her phone and tripod in the car, he took out his camera. She touched up on her lipstick and then it was her turn to ‘wash’ the car. The legs of her net curtain pants were by now wet and dirty up to her knees and she faltered with her wet little feet in her high heels, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She twisted herself into typical Instagram curves to ‘wash’ the car: angulated hips, pouted lips and a far protruded, almost non-existent little butt. To make matters imaginary worse, she also ‘oops’ splashed her top.
The Maakster had seen enough and drove her sparkling clean car home.