Can you hear me, Karma? It’s me, Cassie.
Sorry for two posts in one day, but this must be shared pronto.
Karma. It hates me. What did I do?!?
So if you read the previous post, then to add on to my misery…
I went to Panara for that sandwich I wanted so badly. On the way there, I hit a pot hole because some turd driving the other direction was in MY LANE. Only my back right tire hit, but I heard what sounded like a rock hitting the side of my car.
When we got to Panara, I parked, got Claire out and going to Luca’s side I heard this hiiiiiiissssssssss sound.
“Uh-oh. That’s not good.”
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“Our tire died.”
Now remember how I said I had no cellphone? Yup. Perfect time to need one.
I used the phone in Panara and Matt was on his way to his softball game. He said he’d come by and take a look. So we got our dinner and waited.
When we finished, we saw Matt had parked next to me and was changing it to the spare. Unfortunately, he put it on backwards, so after I started to back up, it wouldn’t let me go any further backwards, squeeked and froze. Matt then had to fix it AGAIN and then he said he’d follow me. I told him I’d rather take the backroad home, not 28, so he said to drive safely.
I started down the back road and when I got to the bend, there was a cop car blocking the rest of it. Figures, this would be the ONE TIME a semi-truck would get stuck there and block the ENTIRE road. Grr….
Turning around, I knew the only way home was then 28. Thank the good lord my exit was only a mile off from where I was. I put my four-ways on and drove at a snail’s pace.
While driving down the hill, my Jeep starts freaking out on me, saying check the blah blah blah system. Check the blah blah blah system. Over and over and over. WTF? I have a spare on, what do you want from me?
I got home, parked the car, kicked the spare tire and sat down to tell y’all about it.
Do you hear me, Karma? It’s me, Cassie. Not Hitler. Not Bin Ladin. Not Pat Robertson. Not even Glen Beck. I do good things. Why do you hate me so?