flat tires are fun, but that is maybe 0.23% of the time.

The other 99.77% of the time they are sort of crappy. I should have known that something bad was going to happen that day - I mean, I had done my hair and worn my cute boots. A combination for trouble every time. I even had a foreshadowing moment. I had gone to my mom's school to volunteer and I was helping a little boy practice his letters. He was writing a capital D, and for some reason he made the bottom part of the D flat, but a little bit wavy. It sort of looked like the ghosts on Pac-Man. He said, "Teacher Suzy, look! It looks sort of like a flat tire." (No joke, exact words). I said, "Oh yeah it does! That's cute. Alright now fix it." (Exact words once again, though I said them nicely).

Well little boy, I don't think it's cute anymore. Though sitting on the side of the freeway listening to country music looking at the glowing Arby's sign might be someone's idea of a good time, I had other things to do. Like not be late for work. So my great mom picked me up off the side of the road hitch-hiker style and drove me to work! Bless her.

On the drive from Tremonton to Logan I had flashes of me being a person with no car: living in the mountains with dreadlocks, relying on a walking stick, only eating cliff bars and wheatgrass and showering in a stream once a week, being one with my bicycle, plaid shirts and Chacos, recycling carpet - but this dream was not meant to be. My car was fixed the next day.

This is me without a car:

Is this what you really want, Universe? For me to be a Mary-Kate look alike? I thought that was what Ashley was for.