STRANGER THAN FICTION: HEIDI'S CAR A ROLLING TRASH CAN; MR. HALF'S CAR NEAT AS A PIN

The Other Half and I have far different ideas on vehicle cleanliness.

His car is always washed, vacuumed and dusted. I can't remember the last time I saw so much as a straw wrapper on the floor.

My car is more of a rolling trash can -- sort of a transportation system for fast-food wrappers and junk mail. Passengers routinely have to push the pile of trash in the back seat over to one side so they can get in.

I'd rather expend my energies cleaning my apartment. The Other Half will help on occasion, but we have different ideas on how that should be done, too. I'll actually put my gloved hand inside the bowl of the toilet to scrub it. Mr. Half just rearranges the candles on the tank lid.

He likes things neat, but he doesn't really mind an inch of dust over the entire household or soap scum so thick on the shower door that light can't penetrate it.

Sure, I've heard about men who not only routinely wash their own cars, but also wash their wives' cars, too. Mr. Half isn't one of those men, but that's OK. It makes borrowing his car kind of fun.

It's like when you own a compact car, fly somewhere on business and rent a mid-sized sedan. The rental car is more roomy. It's clean inside and out. It has that new car smell.

Mr. Half's car is even better. It's not just roomier, he also stocks it with everything a motorist could want. Pain reliever. Stomach medicine.

Gum. Moist towelettes. Change for tolls.

Plus, it has a stereo that wasn't factory installed and rain guards on the windows more improvements by Mr. Half.

Mr. Half was very sensitive about letting me drive his baby, even though I've been helping with the payments since day one. It's like trying to borrow the car from your dad.

Me: "I told the gang I'd drive tonight, so can I borrow your car? It has more room."

Him: "Can't someone else drive?"

Me: "I guess, but their cars are worse than ours. Can I please drive it?"

Him (irritated): "Fine. Drive my car. But I don't want you messing around with your friends and having an accident. And don't speed. And don't park it on the street, park it in a garage. And only put the mid-grade gas in there, none of the cheap stuff. And you'd better bring it back with a full tank...."

He kindly let me drive it to Tallahassee for my three-week stay there. It was a pleasure. Sure, the car is nearly five years old and has all the usual small scratches and minor hail damage, but it's head and shoulders above mine.

Or at least, it used to be.

While I was gone, he turned my car into his. He had it detailed. He changed the floor mats. He bought a new stereo and a tiny remote control for it. Who needs a remote control in the car, for heaven's sake? He got the windows tinted. He installed rain guards. He stocked the glove compartment and removed the miscellaneous items that rode around in my trunk for five years.

He turned my car into his car. And now he won't give my car back. We had a rather uncomfortable conversation about it when I returned.

"You should keep mine," he said. "It has more room." But it's just not the same now. Somehow, in the time I've had it, a little trash has gathered in the back seat. The dashboard is dusty. Someone chewed all the gum and used all the moist towelettes.

But there could be a solution. I'm off on a business trip to Orlando this Thursday. I'm leaving early and taking MY car. When I return on Friday, the one I'll be driving will be clean and restocked again.

He just can't stand driving a dirty car.

Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff writer living in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Contact her at newsduo@herald.infi.net.