In which I rattle off the events of a wonderful morning:
On what was to be a sunny day, mist covers the hairs of my arms when I go to get coffee. Ugh. I’m also getting ready to frost a coconut cream cake and realize I have no powdered sugar…
First, forego the exercise you need and decide to DRIVE your son’s old truck to the store rather than speed walk--just for ONE item. Your own truck is blocked in the driveway by his new truck and you have no key. Buy powdered sugar and drive away.
Sigh, turn around and go back to tell a little old lady she’s left her lights on in her 70’s ‘pimp’ car and feel great you’ve done a good deed! Gawk and continue to gawk at the magnificent yellow-peach roses growing around the block as you near home.
Continue drooling over the flowers, making sure you turn too sharply and knock up against the curb. Sheepishly drive around the corner a few more feet and park, expecting the worse and hoping for the best as you climb out of the truck. (It’s the worst.)
Cuss inside your head and find the WD-40 to spray the lug nuts. Go inside and make the frosting, which turns out rather gluey. Wait awhile and spray lug nuts again, crawling under the truck to find the best spot for the jack; drag your clean hair in the dust. Position it underneath and go buy some ice at the gas station, knowing you’ll soon need a cold drink.
Wait a while longer and reach in the back of the truck for the lug wrench which isn’t there and the crowbar which isn’t there…continue on to the newer truck, then your own truck. It’s ok to cuss out loud at this point, as all the truck beds are unexpectedly tool-free.
Search the garage for some mediocre piece of steel that might work, realizing it doesn’t quite fit right, but ya gotta work with it anyway—and cautiously. Jump up and down on each lug nut—scraped shins aren’t fun. Spray again and come back later.
Continue jumping, putting the tool back on, jumping, etc—soon you’ll be dripping. Do this 5 more times and reach for the jack handle behind the seat, which had vanished, (but at least you've located the hacksaw your son has accused you of taking). Spend 25 minutes painstakingly rotating the jack with a piece of steel; avoid scraping your knuckles on the pavement every ¼ turn and pray that it will lift the truck just high enough ‘cause it looks pretty darn close. Wipe profuse sweat out of your eyes.
Loosen lug nuts all the way so the tire falls off on your foot. Examine the rip in the sidewall, knowing it’s beyond repair. Cuss once again at your idiot self as your realize your Hawaii spending money is about to diminish—because dad always said, ‘if you ruin one tire, you have to buy TWO’. Realize also that 3 Grad hours were unhappily purchased this week. Go get some ice water.
Try to place the other tire on—jack it up another ½ inch, then finger tighten every other lug nut. Lower jack, another time-consuming trial. Tighten lug nuts further—but not excessively—in case the spare goes flat too...
Get another drink and realize your son WAS at home after all…and asleep upstairs.
