Blabber Mouth
There was a stretch where Ashlee's tires on her Mazda Protege' would take turns deflating (the Mazda was totalled in a black ice mishap that took 10 years off my life, leaving me with an expectancy of 104 - I aim high). She had friends help her change tires, for what seemed like a month straight. I'm not sure what was happening, I don't think anyone knows. The Donald was away on business and Ashlee was using his garage space - the primo one that allows you to get out of the vehicle without doing the tango with the garage cans and leaf blower, all the while cussing and kicking anything in sight - that's my side, back off ladies.
So combine the tire deflation with the absence of the male species and you're left with me and the girls and a flat tire. Leave it to Ashlee to wait until 9:30pm to announce, "My tire is flat." This lights my fuse and the girls start trying to help. They asked me what they could do to help. My answer was, "Nothing. Get me a glass of wine." They laughed until they saw the dead serious look on my face. I proceeded to change the tire all the while explaining what I was doing and how I was doing it. None of this sunk in, I knew it. The change was successful and I only bloodyed one knuckle and no children.
The next morning I headed off to work, like every morning. At the time I was driving what we refer to as the Blueberry - Jeep Wrangler - bitchin' in the summer, top down, oh yeah! I backed out of the garage - the side with the garbage can and leaf blower and cut the wheel, cut the wheel too hard. I hit the end of the garage door opening, I ripped the trim off of the garage door and busted the hell out of the jeep rubber/plastic fender thingy. The girls came running out because apparently this was audible and felt throughout the house like an earthquake. DAMMIT!
I motored onto work and upon my arrival immediately started making calls, Jeep dealership, explaining, as I am known to do in a 'too much information' style. They could get the parts, I could pick them up in 2 days, they listened quietly while I sobbed. I stopped at the hardware store on the way home and explained to the 'gal', let's call her Pat, what happened and she ruggedly escorted me over to the parts I needed.
I repaired the garage trim, I replaced the rubber/plastic fender thingy on the blueberry in the washbay at work to the amusement of everyone and had order restored to the kingdom in the nick of time. Once again when The Donald came home, I immediately said, "Guess what I did!!" It's a curse. He was glad there was nothing for him to do, told me to be more careful and yelled for Ashlee to get her foreign piece of crap out of the garage.
So combine the tire deflation with the absence of the male species and you're left with me and the girls and a flat tire. Leave it to Ashlee to wait until 9:30pm to announce, "My tire is flat." This lights my fuse and the girls start trying to help. They asked me what they could do to help. My answer was, "Nothing. Get me a glass of wine." They laughed until they saw the dead serious look on my face. I proceeded to change the tire all the while explaining what I was doing and how I was doing it. None of this sunk in, I knew it. The change was successful and I only bloodyed one knuckle and no children.
The next morning I headed off to work, like every morning. At the time I was driving what we refer to as the Blueberry - Jeep Wrangler - bitchin' in the summer, top down, oh yeah! I backed out of the garage - the side with the garbage can and leaf blower and cut the wheel, cut the wheel too hard. I hit the end of the garage door opening, I ripped the trim off of the garage door and busted the hell out of the jeep rubber/plastic fender thingy. The girls came running out because apparently this was audible and felt throughout the house like an earthquake. DAMMIT!
I motored onto work and upon my arrival immediately started making calls, Jeep dealership, explaining, as I am known to do in a 'too much information' style. They could get the parts, I could pick them up in 2 days, they listened quietly while I sobbed. I stopped at the hardware store on the way home and explained to the 'gal', let's call her Pat, what happened and she ruggedly escorted me over to the parts I needed.
I repaired the garage trim, I replaced the rubber/plastic fender thingy on the blueberry in the washbay at work to the amusement of everyone and had order restored to the kingdom in the nick of time. Once again when The Donald came home, I immediately said, "Guess what I did!!" It's a curse. He was glad there was nothing for him to do, told me to be more careful and yelled for Ashlee to get her foreign piece of crap out of the garage.
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