At 6, the alarms started going off, and Matt and I blearily smacked our respective Snooze buttons until it was about 6:15. I tried to remember whose turn it was to make lunches - the lunch-maker showers last. The overwhelming lunch image in my mind was sandwiches, which I'd made, which meant it was Matt's turn to make lunch, so I had the first shower. I muttered, groaned, and dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Brushed my teeth, took my shower.
As I was towelling off, it occured to me that the sandwiches had been on Wednesday and that yesterday I'd had a microwave meal - packed by Matt - for lunch. "It was my day to make lunch, wasn't it?" I called through the bathroom door.
"Yes," came back Matt's voice. "But I made them anyway." Whatta guy.
I got dressed while Matt took his shower, combed my hair, and went downstairs to take my medicine. I scanned an article in the newspaper about grapefruit pie, trying to decide if it sounded really good or really disgusting. Disgusting won. Matt came downstairs, we gathered our various bags and baggage and lunches, and went out the door.
&nbps;
I stopped on the porch, staring in disbelief at my car.
I had a flat tire.
I couldn't believe it. Completely, utterly flat. I looked it over, and didn't see any obvious damage. I thought, perhaps, I'd just lost pressure going over bumps - our neighborhood is very poorly paved, and I used to lose tire pressure all the time when I lived in Blacksburg and kept driving over curbs and such.
I thought I'd just go to the gas station and fill it with air and see if I could hear a hissing or if that seemed to do the trick. Matt followed me to the gas station.
The gas station didn't have an air pump.
I gave up and drove from the gas station across the street to the Merchant's, and left the car with them for a basic flat repair. They're supposed to call and tell me whether the tire was actually damaged or what. Hopefully, it'll be done by noon and I can get a friend here at work to take me over to pick it up.
I'm not even upset about it. I got so many flats in Blacksburg that it's just not something I worry about anymore. You take the car someplace, they test the tire for leaks, they refill it with air or replace it. No biggie. But it wasn't really what I had in mind for the morning.
We're going to see the Harlem Globetrotters tonight. Becky and I were talking a few months ago and I mentioned that I'd always thought they'd be fun to see live. So last week when she told me they were coming to Hampton and did I want her to get tickets for us, I agreed.
K.T. was a little dubious when I told her about it. "You don't like basketball, do you?"
Well, actually, I like basketball better than any other sport - which admittedly isn't saying much. But the Globetrotters isn't really a basketball game. It's a comedy and juggling routine wrapped into a theme of a basketball game. I love good juggling, and I used to watch the Globetrotters on TV when I was a kid, marvelling at the things they could do.
I'm looking forward to it.
Word of the Day: wangle - to make or get by devious means or trickery
I've wangled a fair amount of time to work on this journal by coming in to the office at 7:30 every day. My officemates don't come in until at least 9:30, so I have plenty of time to write.
On the other hand, I can't claim that their presence inspires me to work especially hard, either.
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