Tires

Let me tell you a little story about my past few days:
Wednesday night I'm driving back from Park City with Courtney and Anders. We're coming down the canyon at about 11PM and I hear a weird sound coming from my tire. I pull over to inspect. We (and by "we" of course I mean Anders) soon figure out that my tire is so bald that it's now shredding apart and the metal underneath is coming through. What, who knows what bald tires are? So we (again, by "we" I don't mean myself) quickly put on the spare and drive carefully home.

-Sidenote: Wednesday was a random day in which it wasn't snowing or raining on the canyon drive. Lucky for me, or my car would most likely be down in some ditch having spun off the road due to zero, or negative, grip capability.

So I wake up Thursday morning to go pick up my kids (not really mine) from preschool. Aaaaaand enter flat spare tire. Seriously? I frantically call my sister and she shows up 30 seconds later to pick me up (by some "coincidence" she lives around the corner from me). So I (and by "I" I don't mean myself-except the money part unfortunately) spend the day pumping up my spare tire, researching the cheapest tires around, and finally spending $512.13 on 4 brand spankin' new tires. What the hell. Apparently my back tires weren't lookin' so hot either. Seriously, who knows what bald tires look like? But fine, tires are an investment and I needed them so I bit the bullet.

Friday comes and goes with no real incidents, thank goodness. (Actually it is worth mentioning that on Friday I went to Victoria's Secret and it was revealed to me that I measure at a 32B. Say WHAAAAAT? The itty-bitty-titty-committe has one less member)

Saturday I wake up and drive to my sister's house. On the way there some boy stops me and tells me that my back tire is flat. Excuse me? The tire I just spend $500 is flat? Yes, that's the one. So I get to Laura's house and sure enough, flat. I decide that I'm a grown adult and can figure out how to use the air compressor without help. (Also because Mike is at work so I had no choice) So I figure out how to use it, figure out how much air to put in the tire, and complete my task feeling very proud of myself. As I'm going to take the compressor off my tire, all hell breaks loose. I somehow manage to break the valve off my tire and all the air quickly escapes and leaves my tire (and myself) completely deflated. So I do what any grown adult would do...
I start crying and call my dad.
In the end all is well. I was able to get a friend to come put my (semi) flat spare BACK on and I drove back to Discount Tires and they fixed me up nice and new fo' FREE.

The moral of this story is that things are easier when you live at home where your dad can do things for you.

sidenote-just sent my dad a birthday card that goes like this:
"Dad, I may not know how to plunge a toilet or tinker under the hood of my car. But there is one thing you taught me that I'll never forget..(open card)
To ask you to do it for me."

Ain't that the truth.