Last month our triple AAA roadside assistance membership expired. Being that it’s 77 dollars to renew, and we are staring down a houseful of new utility bills and other assorted reasons to not spend money (inpending birth of Riker) we didn’t renew it.
AAA has cursed us. Last week, as you all know, my lovely Buick kicked the bucket coming home from the airport. Apparently a cracked radiator is a really big deal, and causes lots of smoke and pregnant woman panic.
Tonight, Aaron worked the closing shift. This means he comes home Really Late. Like, midnight. I had bad dreams last night, so I am trying my darndest to stay awake so he can pray for me before he falls asleep. At 11:11, he texts that he’s on his way. As I’m dozing off at 11:30, I feel as if I should check my phone, and lo and behold, a missed call.
It’s Aaron. He’s in the Applebees parking lot with a flat tire that he somehow acquired on the drive home from Overland Park. Helpful News: He’s not far from home, or on the side of the freeway in our itty bitty car. Good news: he has TWO jacks in Lola’s trunk. (Lola is our 1982 Honda prelude). Bad news: tire won’t come off. Worse news: I can’t go help because a) Caden is kinda asleep here, and you can’t leave a baby in the house by himself. b) I’m pregnant and pretty much totally incompetent when it comes to mechanics. I could change a tire if I HAD to, because I’d just call AAA.
So here I am, at quarter til midnight, about to start on third dinner, waiting for Aaron to figure out the tire situation, praying he doesn’t get mugged or kidnapped or the Fate Worse Than Death while trying to change the itty bitty tire on Lola in the parking lot of the Applebee’s in Grandview at midnight. Lord have mercy, but I think AAA cursed us.
He just texted, tire changed in less than five minutes, and he’s on his way home. AAA may have cursed us, but Aaron is really the manliest man. I better be a womanly wife and prepare my Man a Snack.