Single White Female Seeking Practical Robot

This is me enjoying my time at Firestone this afternoon, as I await the return of Karen O. from her torturous ordeal of getting a tire replaced. In truth, this is me blankly staring at the TV in the lobby, attempting to understand the Harper's Bazaar in my lap and hating every second of being a "responsible adult." I didn't take a picture of my brief cry break in the bathroom, just to save you all the embarrassment.

 

Shall I fill you in on why my trusty blue Beetle needed to be treated with such brutality, mere days after her return from the exile of the repair shop? (Remember that time I drove to Dekalb in search of epic beards, and almost died like ten times because she was stalling at nearly every intersection? Yeah well it took me a few more weeks, but she finally got fixed. I don't want to talk about how much it cost.)

 

I've had a slow leak in this one tire for probably over a year. This is just how I operate, -- like the car-dying-near-crash-shear-terror episodes of the past few months -- it usually takes me until the last possible moment to get important adult-like things done. And for the past year or so, I've been waiting until the tires gets low enough for me to feel it wiggle upon driving to fill it up again at the free air-pump gas station down the street. Oh, and I never knew what PSI to fill to so...that's what guessing is for! And yes, I can hear you cringing from here.

 

So this morning as I leave for work with exactly the correct amount of time to arrive punctually -- with little to no traffic -- I see the tire has reached Critical Attention Time. And since I bought some Fix-A-Flat months ago for the exact moment that I could put it off no longer (prevention is for sissies) I forewent the notion of being on time and began the process of DIY tire repair.

 

Too bad I left the Fix-A-Flat in my car last night.

 

Because HELL-O, it's November. And we had frost last night. And in the cold, my magical $10 elixir turned into a $120 problem when it clogged the valve, preventing me from then getting any free air in my steadfast tire's sweet hollow chambers.

 

This is why I waited so long. I know what I'm capable of destroying.

 

So now I have a brand new tire and, according to the lovely receptionist, three more that will need replacing soon. Sigh. I have little to no tolerance for things that seem very easy and simple, but are really just outside my realm of comprehension because they are SO BORING. This is why it takes me so long to buy shampoo and conditioner after I've run out and resorted to baking soda; make a chiropractic appointment even though I've been walking hunched for weeks and persist in wearing the same ridiculous heels; or buy new running shoes though I've spent hours in their vicinity over the past three years, buying dresses instead. I can't stand practicality.

 

I think this is why humans "mate for life." They need someone else to pick up their slack. I could train myself to do it, but...I don't see the fun in that. I'd rather have someone else that actually likes doing those kinds of things do them for me. Right. When do I get my robot?

 

 

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