But She Never Said, "I Told You So..."

After sitting in traffic last Thanksgiving for over six hours (for what is normally a less than four hour trip), we decided to be smart this year and travel back early on Saturday instead of waiting for Sunday. Apparently, fate had another plan.

Since my sister-in-law, Rose, had her car, and Tim and I had ours, I decided to travel back with Rose and her dog, Murray, the first half of the trip, then, when her ears were bleeding from listening to me talk for two hours, I would switch cars and make Tim listen to me for the second half of the trip.

We had been following Tim for less than a half hour when he suddenly pulled off the road (which was barely enough time to complain about how much we ate and how fat we were). Puzzled, we pulled up behind him on the shoulder only to find that his left front tire had gone flat. Surprisingly, he was taking it quite well (only three or four curses, and no kicking the tire, car or roadside debris).

After emptying a can of Fix-A-Flat into the tire and having it hiss and foam back out at us from a slit near the bottom, we decided to call roadside assistance and see if we could get the tire replaced (250 miles on a doughnut? Please. Just the thought of having to drive two miles on the highway while keeping it under sixty was making Tim break out in a cold sweat.)

So there we sat, Tim, Rose, Murray and I (foul mood, bad back that was out, sore throat and clogged sinuses, and needing a bathroom -- and Rose, Murray and I were not in happy places either), when Tim's brother, Tom, came along and pulled in as well to commiserate. (Wohoo! a tailgate party!)

Fortunately, help arrived within twenty minutes (which was what Rose had optimistically predicted). That was the good news. The bad news was that there was not a replacement tire to be had within a, well, 250 mile radius. Great. Another six hour trip. Our happy places now were in the land of Far, Far Away.

Thirty minutes later, we were on the road again, but this time I was with Tim and we had convinced Rose and Tom to go on ahead of us (Rose was the hardest sell, wanting to follow us in case we had problems with the doughnut, but we finally insulted her enough and got her to go on ahead. In retrospect, it was like watching the last lifeboat from the Titanic head for the horizon while we danced to the final verse of "Amazing Grace".)

Several hours of Christmas music later (which was not making our day either merry or bright), we were finally nearing the end of our journey. Only an hour and a half to go. Tim was holding it together pretty well, although there had been one or two tense moments such as when a carload of senior citizens passed us (and I'm pretty sure they flipped us off) doing a speedy sixty in a sixty-five zone. But the worst moment came when we were passed by a Winebego--towing a car! I never thought it was possible for someone's skin to simultaneously turn white and red until I looked over at Tim, who was clenching his teeth and the wheel with equal force.

Just as we were discussing where we should have dinner, it happened. The right front tire went flat. As we coasted to the side of the highway for the second time that day, and discovered that that tire too was beyond help, I waited for it. I was sure it was coming any second now. The Rumplestiltskin dance.

But there was no stamping. No spewing of cuss words. No disappearing through a whole in the ground, never to be seen again. Amazingly, Tim calmly called roadside assistance and ordered a tow truck. (Meanwhile, I was wondering who this stranger was and what he had done with my husband. Had he been switched out for a Stepford husband, or had aliens taken over his body? Would a pod shoot out of his stomach at any moment and attack me?)

While I was still pondering the possibilities, Rose pulled up behind us once again ( she had stopped for a bathroom break--for her and the dog-- and shrewdly stayed some miles behind us, anticipating this very thing). After transferring our luggage to her car, we all sat and waited for the cavalry to arrive. Which he did one and a half hours later (after he finished watching his movie--no sense everyone having a bad day).

By then, darkness had fallen, Rose and Murray had fallen asleep and Tim had fallen into the long anticipated but expected foul mood (there he was... the guy I married!).

After a truly speedy trip to the dealer (Who knew a flatbed tow truck could do eighty?) Rose drove us home where we went to the diner for dinner (and I got moldy bread with my tuna sandwich---the perfect end to the perfect day). It had only taken us eight and a half hours to make that four hour trip.

Before she left to go home though, Rose made one final prediction...on the price of the tires. Tim disagreed. Two days later, after speaking with the dealer, we found out that, once again, Rose was right!