Mars would look exactly like my darling husband’s car, which I’ve affectionately named The Well of Crap. There are old newspapers, dirty socks and t-shirts, and who-knows-what else piled everywhere.
I just laugh. I’m a meticulous homemaker, so Paul’s car is the only place where he has free reign to be messy. A man’s car is his own domain, so Paul can do as he wishes. Within that Acura, Paul is the King of Crap.