I’m beginning to think that I might be a magician.
Those who know me are well aware of the fact that I have a lingering paranoia with car tires. The paranoia stems from the fact that, in the span of just over a year, I’ve had to replace 3 tires that burst while driving (on separate occasions, thank goodness), and driving quite fast. I’ve heard so many horror stories of people who went through the same, but unlike how it worked in my case (tire pops, I turn the music down, wonder why my car is losing speed, pull over, etc.), these other stories all end in upside-down cars, reconstructive surgery, emotional scarring, and vehicle write-offs. Mine just ends in “ag crap.” So I thank the universe for taking it easy on me, change the tire, and go on my merry way.
This has happened three times. Three is a sacred number. I’m convinced I only had three chances. (There are some loopholes in this belief – but let’s not complicate this). So after pop-goes-the-weasel Vol. 3, I’ve been haunted by the idea that the next time would be THE time. Where I also become a statistic car-rolling scar-wearer.
So for some reason, my paranoia flares up again this weekend, and I tell the boo-hoo story to anyone that would listen. And I check my tires, and I knock on wood. But I mention it to too many people – I send the idea out onto the universe. This morning, I get into my car at
Yeah it’s like three days after I started writing this, just can’t come to a point, can I? So the end of the boring, long story was that talked about flat tires too in one too many sentences.. Then I dreamt that my tires was flat.. and woke up the following morning to find that, against all freakin' odds, my tire was flat. Spent 8 minutes and 37 seconds changing the tire, got to work a little late, quite dirty, and very annoyed that no one even offered to help me. I didn’t want their help, just their offer.
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