Let's be honest..... Most people refuse to "own" their stuff. Well, this is me owning my stuff. I hopped in the car this morning after having coffee with daddy and headed toward work. I took the same route I take every single day. Apparently, I was a little more anxious to get to work this morning and I cut a corner a little (or a lot) short. I felt a significant thud, but really.... That isn't exactly breaking news where I'm concerned. I got to the corner where I needed to pull out onto the highway (from hell) at 8 o'clock rush hour. I paused and thought to myself that it might be wise to pull over in a parking lot and take a little look see to see how much damage I had done. So, I hopped out of the car (in my 4 inch stilettos) and moseyed to the back of the car so I had the complete picture of my problem.... Which was the tire.... NOT my driving. Oh yeah, it wasn't pretty at all. Definitely not fixable with a roll of duct tape. I got back in the car and thought I might be able to tiptoe it back to the house before it completely cratered. To my credit... I got it within four blocks from my house and I knew my husband was still home, so I was thanking God right there for new technology. The thing about "New Technology" is it has to be used to get the maximum benefit from it's greatness. In case of like a cell phone.... If you call someone, it helps if they actually answer their phone so you can initiate conversation with them. This is the part of the plan that did not go as anticipated which left me with the option of walking 4 blocks in my 4 inch stilettos. The closer I got to the house, the heavier my footfalls. My husband said he heard me come in the front door and walk across the living room floor, but he just figured I had forgotten something. That is when I sweetly suggested he pay closer attention to the nuance of my footfall, because if he had, he would have noticed less clomping and more stomping which would have alerted him to the fact that I may be..... Not as cheerful as usual. (insert sweet smiling angelic emoticon here). We drove together to where my poor little car was slumped beside the road. He took one look at the tire and said.... "Wow! You must have hit it really hard cause it tore the sidewall out."..... To which I responded.... "Well, it was maybe a little hard-ish I guess." We changed the tire (I say we because I stood there holding the hubcap with the lug nuts in it... FLASHBACK to The Christmas Story. We got the tire changed without me saying any wordy derds, and drove it to the tire place. As he was driving me to work, he made some comment about me driving like I was Danica Patrick, which I am NOT in fact Danica Patrick, and then mentioned another curb incident I had when my youngest son was with me...... "Caleb swore he thought he was going to die right there!!!" Oh now, I believe that is a bit of an exaggeration and besides we both know he doesn't process his emotions like most people so.... I'm going to need a judges ruling on the legitimacy of that accusation and while your at it.... What the heck purpose does curbs serve because they are always getting in my way and tearing stuff up? And seriously.... Why can't we just buy me a small-ish tank to drive?