In preparation for the new baby, I had my car detailed. And by detailed, I mean scrubbed down to an inch of its life.

I refuse to believe it's an exaggeration to say that never in the history of vehicles has there ever been one in such need of a hose-down. Move over, mud-wrestling monster trucks and creepy neighbor's van, which now houses an ex-boyfriend, his Spam obsession and your shared-custody harem of hairless rats. You had nothing on my Subaru. Even the dusty wagons on the Oregon Trail got a nice wash while crossing the river at the end.

Morning drop-offs at preschool had left my poor car blanketed in Goldfish, Cheerios and some sticky substance that was certainly made from peanut butter and the plague. Too busy to clean when my toddler spilled juice, I would throw a blanket over it. If my kid spilled milk on the blanket, I'd simply cover the blanket with a sweater.

If people at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had taken a ride in my car, they would most certainly have been placed under quarantine. Which is why, before subjecting a new baby to fuzzy cereal bars and smallpox, I shelled out $150 to give my car a thorough top-to-bottom washing.

About 3 1/2 hours later, my car came out sparkling. It smelled of soap. It shined like the sun. I took my son for a drive. Showed off the stainless seats to my neighbors. It was like a brand-new car. And I thought that this was the best $150 I had ever spent.

Then I let the car sit for the weekend.

When I opened the door to drive to work Monday morning, my car reeked. The most foul of foul stenches. A soul-crushing blow to the olfactory system.

Is this some kind of prank?

I thought back to my college days, when my friends and I had a prank war going with the boys down the hall. It all began innocently enough. We taped tampons to their doors. They stole the alcohol from our room. We left an anonymous message with the RA so they would get in trouble for having liquor that was actually ours. It was all in great fun — especially when we began upping the ante.

One time, our friends fastened a bucket of water to our doorway, so when my roommate walked through the door, 2 gallons of water spilled on her head. Sadly, she was carrying her laptop at the time, which drowned in the prank juice, never to be started again. Our retaliation had to be strong. We thought long and hard about what would make the boys suffer.

One of our guy friends had recently begun dating a new girl. While we watched him scrub the room he shared in preparation for a date with his new fling, we came up with the perfect revenge. It was so simple. So easy. So potent.

That night, we returned from the dining hall with a glass of milk, sneaked into the boys' room and hid the milk behind their dresser. It took a week for the milk to have a real effect, but soon their room began to stink. And then it reeked. And then it was unforgiving.

We watched as these poor boys washed everything in their room, trying to find the source of the stench. They did their laundry. Once. Twice. Three times. Cleaned the sheets. Bleached their minifridge. Washed the floors. Febrezed the curtains. Doused the dorm room in cologne. And still the stench lingered.

That is, until we decided the boys had suffered enough and told them about the milk hiding behind their dresser.

I love a good prank war.

After making such a big deal out of my newly cleaned car, I was confident some friend would come forward and admit to the wrongdoing she had committed on my Subaru. A stink bomb, perhaps? But after a week of lingering stench and no loved ones raising their hands, I called the carwash.

"Any idea as to why my car smells so awful after going to your carwash?" I asked the manager.

"Have you looked to see if any food fell under the seat?"

And there it was — my toddler's sippy cup, full of solidified milk.

Gross.

Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. Check out her column at http://didionsbible.com. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.