Crazy Bird Lady?

All around the cathedral, the saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares
Although you can’t see it, you know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares — Mary Poppins

When I recently got a flat tire after hitting a chunk of wood the wrong way, I had my car towed to a repair shop for a replacement wheel.

But when I was notified the job was finished and they didn’t have anybody free to bring me my car, I had to scramble to find a ride.

I called a taxi, and that’s where the “fun” started. Continue reading

Fancy-Pants has a hurt foot

You can thank me for this later.

Last week, Mom had a doctor’s appointment so I chauffeured her in her fancy-pants car.

I don’t particularly like driving it. I wasn’t the one who picked it out or did the test-drive. She likes it; that’s what’s important.

Anyway, after her appointment — which went w-a-a-a-y longer than it should have, causing me to become even farther behind in my work than I needed! — I took off from my parking space, headed for home.

Yes, I was flustered. And in a bit of a hurry. But in my defense, I wasn’t driving with Road Rage. Or like a bat out of h-e-double matchsticks.

As I came to an intersection with no Stop sign for me, a battered heap of a car was stopped on my right. Fearing that Mom’s fancy-pants car wouldn’t have sufficient room to make the right turn without kissing the front end of the trash-mobile, I narrowed my turn.

Little did I realize the curb would reach out and grab Fancy-Pants by its right back foot!

An awful noise ensued, and the tire indicator light on the dashboard illuminated.

Since I’ve driven Fancy-Pants before, I assumed the light was telling me the tire pressure was uneven.

Every time the weather changes (particularly when it gets colder), this light goes on. You see, this is Fancy-Pants, and it wants to alert you that conditions are unpleasant for it.

So I hit the OK button and proceeded on my way.

At least I’d missed the trash-mobile.

Driving along, I noticed Fancy-Pants wasn’t behaving in his usual manner.

He was struggling. And groaning. And making thumping noises.

I listened to the car while Mom was regaling me with everything of importance that happened at the doctor’s office.

Then something told me to check that tire indicator light again.

Whoops! This time, the message told me the right rear tire had NO pressure.

Well, actually it indicated the number “1.”

In big orange lights.

I pulled to the curb, hopped out to check, and there it was — a tire as flat as the proverbial pancake.

We called a local tire repair shop, a guy met us and exchanged our “ruined” tire for a spare, sending us on our way.

Naturally, they have to order a special tire. We’re talking about Fancy-Pants, remember?

So my advice is this — watch out for curbs.

Particularly curbs that have deteriorated from construction or bad weather.

They’ll get you!