Round Two

One would think I am fabricating my vehicular challenges, but alas, no.

Today, upon rolling out of bed (always delightful after a Thursday night of too many cocktails) and pulling it together for work, what to my wondering eyes did appear?

A flat tire. Another flat tire (please recall that is my second... of the week).

I am progressing so far into my affair with AAA Motor Club that I may as well call it a serious relationship, buy a ring, and pick out my china pattern. Is ridiculous. And this ill-begotten snow (no, I shan't complain. read: New York, seven feet... shudder) has every towing company in the city run ragged. Typically AAA tells you an estimate of about 60 minutes for help to arrive, maybe 120 if things are crazy. Well, today the reply was, "Well, honey, we're running on about 4 hours waiting time for these things." Apparently everyone has decided to forgo traffic traditions and drive themselves straight off every road, over every hill, dale, and overpass and straight into eagerly awaiting ditches. Even the police are forcing AAA to supply assistance to those they claim to need it so direly. (What? Like having no heat and being stranded in the center lane of 465 is really so hazardous.)

Anyway, either I was charming or just damn lucky because no sooner had I tried some alternate businesses ("Sorry, 4 hours."), I get the call and my new friend arrives. Poor man. A locksmith by trade, his entire week has found him rescuing the likes of me with his knees in the slush and defibrolating (that spelling must be atrocious) batteries, most of whom have decided to unionize and go on strike during the cold season. 20 hour days ever since the blizzard hit, he tells me.

At any rate, just so happened that today I decided to spiff myself up in sleek pencil skirt and heels*, which I want you to know is not advisable when one's car is buried in a drift and ice-picking is an all-consuming 15 minute ordeal before the windshield is rediscovered.

*side note: beware of women who suddenly reignite the flame of fashion/sex-appeal. usually a compensation for feeling like shit and not wishing to be exposed as such. a disguise, more often than not.

home now and picking a fight with the cat, who is a monster and complete miscreant. no wonder she's mine.