Listening to That Voice

18 Sep

I did something completely out of character the other day. I played the helpless female card. Really.

I still don’t know why I did it, but I’m glad I did.

I haven’t been feeling very well all week. I won’t bore you with the details. It hasn’t been horrible. But it hasn’t been great either. I keep hoping I’ll feel better very soon. Especially since I have a road trip coming up on Sunday. More on that tomorrow.

My car, which is almost 10 years old, has been in need of an oil change. Hubby has been nagging me (nicely) about having it done for awhile. So, knowing I’d be driving several hundred miles in just a few days, I figured it was time.

All went well until, on the way home, I heard a strange noise. I knew immediately that I had a flat tire.

Crap.

For about 5 milliseconds I contemplated just driving home anyway. I wasn’t very far from the house at that point. But I knew that would be stupid.

It just happened that I was very close to the firehouse, so I pulled into the parking lot, stepped out of the car and quickly confirmed that my tire was indeed completely deflated.

I know how to change a tire. I’ve had to do it more than once. The last tire I changed was on Hubby’s truck. That baby was BIG.

Yet, for some strange reason, before I even started to move toward the trunk to grab the necessary tools a voice in my head said, “Call Mike.”

Again, I know how to change a tire. So I popped the trunk. But before I could do anything else, that same voice said, more insistently this time, “Call Mike.”

So I listened. Despite him being in the middle of an important project AND knowing full well I am fully capable of changing my own damn tire, he said, “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He didn’t give me a hard time at all. And sure enough, a few minutes later he was at my side.

After thanking him profusely, I said, “You know I know how to do this, right?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I wouldn’t let you drive anywhere if you didn’t.”

He went about the business of changing my tire without making even any remotely smart-ass comments. Which is also out of character.

As he was tightening the lug nuts to hold the spare in place, a police car pulled into the parking lot.

“Where was he fifteen minutes ago? We could have used him,” Hubby said.

When I saw the police officer get out of the car and walk toward the station, I just laughed.

“Yeah, I’m sure she would’ve been just as anxious to change the tire,” I said. (She was a pretty, petite policewoman.)

Hubby proceeded. Once the spare was in place and the car came down off the jack, we realized that the spare was pretty close to being flat, too.

Crap.

Even if I had changed the tire by myself, which again I am fully capable of doing, I would have been stranded.

Leaving my car at the fire station, we took the flat tire home for Hubby to repair. But he couldn’t find a hole. No matter how hard he tried.

How does a tire flatten when there’s no hole in it and the valve stem is fully intact?

The only thing we can think happened is that the tire was under-inflated just enough to cause the tire to crinkle, breaking the seal between tire and rim long enough that the tire deflated instantly.

Weird, eh?

I’m glad it happened close to home. And I’m glad I have the kind of Hubby who would come to my rescue without even an iota of complaint.

I’m very lucky, I know. And since it’s been a long time since I have sung Hubby’s praises here on my blog, I figured it was time.

He’s awesome. No matter how much I poke fun at him here, he knows how much I love him. I am a VERY lucky lady.

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