Wesley, where were we? Oh, that’s right. Mommy and Daddy were spending the night in the Baltimore Marriot, because somehow Mommy’s car had decided to be a TOTAL ASSHOLE. And nobody could help!
In summary up to this point:
A: Flat tire in downtown Baltimore
B: Lug nuts will come off, tire will not
C: Tire will come off, lug nut will not
D: A Kardashian is preggo again
The next morning, Mommy woke up early and because she was so eager to get home to you. We were supposed to meet Peter at 10am, but we wanted to have a plan in place just in case things went wrong (and at this point EVERYTHING had gone wrong.) We didn’t want to risk driving home on the dummy tire, because they just don’t make those suckers like they used to and the last thing we needed was to be stuck AGAIN on the highway. Mommy found the closest tire shop to the hotel, and gave the gentleman there an estimate of when she hoped they could arrive. She also took the numbers of three LEGITIMATE towing companies, just in case Peter didn’t show.
(Side note: We found out after the fact that Mommy’s insurance wouldn’t cover the cost of having Peter’s company come and try to fix the car, but they would have paid for a tow truck. Where the hell we would have told them to tow the car at 11pm in a strange city, when we’d still have been stuck there overnight with no way of then getting TO the car other than calling a cab and spending MORE MONEY YAY!…. You see my point.)
Mommy and Daddy decided to get cleaned up as best they could, while still wearing the previous days clothes and without Mommy’s makeup OMG CRISIS, and grab some breakfast. There was a Starbucks right across from their hotel. For the first time since the night before, with peppermint mochas in hand, things were looking up.
Then, one of Baltimore’s Residents without Residence came over to the plate glass window we were sitting by. He’d just plucked a cigarette butt from a trashcan, and was attempting to light it while starting intently at us. I continuted contemplating my breakfast, and noticed Daddy staring unabashedly back.
“Honey,” I intoned, smiling sweetly. “Please stop staring at that man.”
“Do you think this window is a two-way mirror?” Daddy asked, puzzled.
“No, I’m pretty sure he’s just staring at us,” Mommy answered, continuing to smile.
“Then why is he just standing there??” Daddy continued to question.
“He probably wants money sweetheart, just keep talking to me and stop staring.”
The gentleman went away without further incident, but Mommy was amused by Daddy’s naivete.
We finally met up with Peter again, and he made sure Mommy’s car had enough air in the tire to follow him “ten minutes down the road, to a garage on a main road.” Not being from Baltimore, and having paid him already, we were… well… SOL. Off we went through the city, noting that we were moving to a quieter part of town and feeling relieved…
…until we turned the corner to our destination. We were facing a row of storage units that had been converted to garages. All of which were owned by different people, seeming all of whom were clustered in the street talking and listening to eleventy different loud music stations. Had Mommy been alone, she would have been very nervous, but fortunately she was with Daddy and had her trusty iPhone. She also saw the cops driving by at frequent intervals, which brought a small measure of solace.
We were introduced to the gentleman who was going to cut Mommy’s tire off the car, and given his business card. For posterity, we had to save it. Because it is a girl in a bikini on a pink car.
Despite the apparently sketchiness of our surroundings, Mommy’s car was quickly taken up on a lift and the garage’s employees got to work removing our tire. Electric Bolt Removal Thing?* Nothing. Something that Looks Like A Saw?* No dice.
Suddenly, a BLOWTORCH appeared as if out of nowhere, and that nasty tire was FINALLY off. The verdict in the bright light of day was that the tire had a puncture in the side-wall under the car, and thus couldn’t be fixed. The dummy tire was on in a Jiffy, and we were informed that our service station attendants only accepted cash…which we totally didn’t have. Because Hello, STUCK OVERNIGHT IN BALTIMORE.
Fortunately, Peter came through and handled that part of things (since his business hadn’t been able to actually get the job done), and with the aid of Mommy’s trusty iPhone we were on our way to a tire shop that was not a converted storage unit.
Things get boring here for a while, because actually getting the tire fixed at a “legit” tire shop required very little effort and time. Before we knew it, we were heading back to you, as excited as we could be. The total time elapsed since we’d departed for the city for “an evening of revelry” was 24 hours, and we were eager to get cleaned up and in fresh clothes.
Apparently, Mommy was a little TOO eager for those fresh clothes, because shortly after we crossed the border of sweet, sweet Pennsylvania, some flashing lights appeared in our rearview mirror. Don’t judge me too harshly. What highway has a speed limit of 55 and expects drivers to ACTUALLY follow it? (Answer: THAT ONE.) Perhaps the officer suspected that Mommy was on the verge of going EFFING POSTAL, and took it easy on her with a minimal fine. (Which didn’t seem so minimal after the crazy charges we’d racked up in the preceding 24 hours.)
After that, it was smooth sailing all the way back to our sweet little town, and your sweet little face.
And we are never ever ever ever ever leaving again the end. Ever.
(Except we’re totally going to Philadelphia later this month. Pray for us.)
*I am now a whiz at all things required to fix a car. CLEARLY.