I pointed to the glove compartment. “There are wipes in there.” Her little nose wrinkled in confusion. I sighed. “To clean off your hands.” That devilish smirk was back. Charlotte held up her hands, palms toward me, and waved them in front of my face, taunting. “Are you a germaphobe?” “Just wipe them off.” This was going to be one long-ass day.
