20 October 2003

Rude Awakening

I�d like to have a big, fat do-over on today, please. Thanks. And it's only 8:45 am.

I am roused from sleep at about 4:30 am by a sound all cat owners know too well. That �hurk� sound a cat makes as it vomits up fur, spittle and partially digested food. I scramble out of my bed and run to turn on the light, stubbing my toe in the process, only to see The Tard vomiting not on the easily cleanable kitchen linoleum, but on my newly polished hardwood floors. I grab the roll of paper towels from my kitchen counter, wipe up the kitty product and walk back to my room.

By the time I manage to settle in to bed and pull the covers up to my chin, the hurk noise starts again. The nasty deposit is made, this time, on my bathroom rug, right in front of the vanity. The third shot is on the landing of my stairs and the final, parting bit of yack - right on a couch pillow that had landed on the floor. I am debating whether I should bother cleaning the rug and the pillow or just throw them out and save myself the energy.

I decide to go with the flow and start the coffee pot and morning prep ritual an hour earlier than usual, as it seems foolish to attempt to catch another hour of sleep. I put together quite the cute outfit, a cream colored sweater, black skirt, funky new necklace. I take the time to put myself together quite nicely. I relax with coffee and watch the morning news. I have fully recovered from the rude awakening I had.

I grab the car keys, my purse and my snack (banana and a yogurt) and head on out to my car.

I have a flat tire.

Not only do I have a flat tire, but I 1) no longer have AAA, 2) live a good half an hour drive from my nearest Cheapo Tire Place 3) live a good 3 miles from the nearest gas station which can, presumably, fill the tire with enough air to get me to a Cheapo Tire Place and 4) have so much crap in my car that it will take me two hours to make it presentable enough to take it to a Cheapo Tire Place.

In short, my day is completely screwed. Fuck you, Goodyear.

I call my office, leave a message letting them know I will be spending the day bonding with my �97 Civic, and head off to the local Mobil station to get a few shots of air to tide Lizzie the Car over. Driving on a squishy tire is weird.

The nice, older guy at the Mobil fills the tire with air for me and refers me to the Cheapo Tire Place I was planning on going to anyway. He then begins his Old Guy Exposition on how people should really check tire pressure more often, and on how my tires are bald anyway, so it is probably for the best that I get new ones before winter sets in. He must see the look of disgust on my face, and my nicely put together, professional outfit, and adds a, �Take care of yourself and your car before your job, and don�t be in such a hurry. This could have been worse.� Yeah, I guess a blow-out when doing 85 on the highway could have been worse than finding a flat in the morning.

So now I am home, waiting for it to warm up a hair before I clean the car out and head to the Cheapo Tire Place. The Tard has recovered from whatever ailed her this morning. She�s running around with a rattly mouse in her mouth, occasionally dropping it and batting it around. I�ve not bounced back, yet. I�m sure by the time my new wheels are all set I�ll be ready for the next crisis.