Saturday during an afternoon of winter boot shopping for The Kid I looked down while loading him in the car to notice there was a nice shiny new screw in my TIRE. But the tire held air, so Mike wall all: That’s great that it’s still holding air. I’ll take it to the shop to get it patched. One rational normal thinker would assume that meant The Same Day NOT The Next Day. Apparently there is no rational thought required in a case such as this.

Sunday morning Mike trekked to Costso to get it patched only to realize that Every Single Person in our vicinity also required car service, from Costco, at 10am. On a Sunday. Go figure.

Refusing to stand in line, he came home all pissed off that there was a line and he wasn’t first. The Horror! And the car went yet another day with a tire plugged with a screw, just praying that it didn’t deflate or shred to pieces as I drove like a maniac through the city streets. But at daycare pick-up last evening, I noticed it was in fact losing air; that damn screw wasn’t doing it’s job. It was time to lay down The Law.

Once home I laid it on thick to Mike: I’m driving a car throughout the city with Your Child and Me, Your Pregnant Wife in it, and a TIRE that has a SCREW in it and that SCREW is deciding our FATE!!

He headed back to Costco - I assume he was thinking that everyone had their car serviced on Sunday and there wouldn’t be a line on Monday…

There was a line.

He left. Again.

Went to another shop - Canadian Tire (for the US readers: Canadian Tire is kinda like a WalMart but they are notorious for ripping off customers in the auto department) where he waited for TWO HOURS for a service technician to take the tire off, tell him it’s irreparable and to put the spare (donut) on.

Needless to say, he was pissed and vowed to Never Step Foot in That Store Again.

I don’t have a new tire, but a donut. Rated for 80km/hr (50m/hr) and I had to drive on the highway, far. Risking it more then I was with the damn screw I think. Though if you ask Mike, I was just being HORMONAL! and BITCHY!

People, I can’t drive slow. I am a notorious speeder with two rather large tickets under my belt and even though I’ve managed to keep the speeding to a minimum of 20km over the limit, I had to set the cruise to remind myself to take it slow. Slower then I have ever gone before.

I feel like an old bitty in the slow lane, like I was watching my life pass me by. Instead of blonde, my hair should be white and I should move real close to the steering wheel. Maybe put a statue of Baby Jesus on the dashboard. Enough stereotyping for you?