Sweet Char (my car) is a very nice little car, but she is getting up there in years, so that always comes with health problems. Some of them I inflict on her, such as when I hit two deer and got a rock in her windshield on three consecutive school days. (I'm not unlucky at all, just zoned out when I drive.) And some of her health problems are inherent, such as a leaky tire.
Pop was very concerned about said leaky tire, and he kept after me to check it. As usual, I forgot until Sweet Char and I were happily cruising down the road headed home from school. I suddenly remembered, and then, of course, Sweet Char started feeling weird and visions of blown out tires and me skidding all over the road came to my mind.
I needed gas anyway, so I pulled in to the nearest gas station and began to fill up. I grabbed my tiny little pressure gauge and tried to take the tire pressure but it kept falling apart. After putting in the spring for the twentieth time, I noticed that there was a guy next to me that looked big and tough and had tattoos. In my mind, a guy like that would definitely have a pressure gauge, so I asked him.
"Do you have a...a...tire gauge thingy, or whatever they're called?" I asked looking and sounding very confident.
"I don't know, let me look," he said, probably feeling sorry for such a helpless female. Not that I was, of course, but he probably thought I was.
"Here, I found one," he said at last. He handed me a really spiffy looking tire gauge.
My first test read 20, then 32, and then 32. I figured the average of those scores were pretty good, so I handed it back to him and went on my merry way.
When I got home, I proudly told Pop that I had checked my left front tire.
"That's great," he said, "But it probably would have helped to check the front right tire, since that's the leaky one."
Whatever. He's so hard to please.
Can I just preface this next story with the fact that blond people sometimes have difficulty distinguishing right and left? It's not that we don't try, it's just that it's not always second nature to automatically know, just then, which is right and which is left. We just have to think about it for a split second longer, and that's probably because our minds are so busy elsewhere, it's hard to fit such a trivial thing in.
I mentioned hitting two deer earlier in my post. Well, the second deer really did a number to my left headlight. On the way home, it was only hanging on by the wires and kept falling out when I tried to put it back in. I decided I would duck tape it when I got home and look like a hillbilly for awhile, but that's not really relevant to the story.
Anyway, I called home and left a message about what had happened. When I got home, Pop was laughing and played my message.
In it, I said, "My front right left headlight it falling out."
Hey, at least I didn't say, "My front, right left tailight it falling out", right?
