It's Saturday. I have a blowout. Major. The van squiggles across the road and I barely keep it under control. It's hot and I just left San Francisco, the city of fog, so I have three layers of shirt action going on. Kids in the car. Husband back in San Francisco.
I have never changed a tire before but I don't see why I couldn't.
An hour later, a guy pulls up and asks if we need any help. I'm just finishing up with tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire and I smile and say, "Nope, got it under control." He seems impressed. I am impressed with myself. And dirty, very dirty.