This weekend I took another big step towards truly living as a single woman… by moving in with my parents. SIGH. Still, moving out of the house I shared with my ex is a significant step forward and the parental housing is only a 3 week stop on the long journey ahead.
As usual, life seemed to punctuate my experiences with a timely lesson. This time in the form of a very flat tire.
And while the pun was not intentional, punctuate is a very apt description of what happened to my tire…
A couple of things happened during this little adventure:
- The help offered by my ex was transaction-based – his muscle in exchange for some household items he’d like to keep. This also “punctuated” the current, transitional state of our relationship.
- Verbal support was offered by another male. He wasn’t available to physically assist me, but I’m actually glad for that.
- I did it my damn self.
It took me a while, and a trip up the driveway for a better tire iron, but I did it. When the first nut let loose with a screech, I gave a shout of triumph. I can’t tell you exactly what I said, but I suspect it was a blustering stream of expletives similar to what you might hear from Rob Gronkowski in one of his infamous monologues.
I posted a triumphant photo to Facebook with a caption that was a bizarre mix of Gronk and Apocalypse Now: I love the sound of breaking nuts in the afternoon!
After putting foot to ass (or tire iron) 4 more times, I had the tire loose, gave it a kick, and took it off. After a little tussle with the tire cover, I had the spare out and on within a few minutes. I’m all for being independent, but I’d rather leave the flat repair and long-term lug nut tightening to the professionals, so off I went to VIP to wait entirely too long to have the tire fixed and returned to its rightful place. It killed a lot of my Saturday, but in a weird way it lifted my spirits.
Life 0, Julia ###. What’s next, life? Bring it.