So much construction, so many nails in the road waiting to pierce a tire. I'm not one to replace a perfectly good (and expensive) piece o' rubber just because it's been stabbed by a 1-inch dagger.
So I limp into the tire shop and wait there like a moron as it's patched, admitting by my presence that no, I don't watch where I'm going and yes, I'm lazy. After confirming that an "accidental" sudden launch won't tear the plug right out, I wait.
Lined up outside are the cars waiting for podiatry. One by one, they're brought inside. I have no clue if it's been my turn yet; they all sound the same with their raspy little purrs and tentative travel...
Then, like the call of a long-lost love, I hear a throaty rumble. The young dude sitting across from me looks up. It's either his truck, or my Precious.
An irrepressible smile spreads across my face as the driver revs her a little more than necessary. I totally understand. There are only three people waiting, and two of them know it's not theirs. Eyes slide toward me while trying to act indifferent.
It's fixed in a flash, keys are collected, and what's this? A huge SUV blocks the exit. Oh dear, I just have to take the long way around. Mr. Import Subcompact, sweet dreams. Mr. Young Trucker, this ain't your Bigfoot. It's easy to get used to something you drive every day. It takes exposure to the real world to make you realize just how sick a beast you've created. So get out there and truly enjoy your Stangs, everybody!