I seem to have a flat tire curse.

This curse usually follows the same pattern each time, and yesterday was no different:

1. Wake up at 6am to drive Theo to work in order to have the car all day to get things done.

2. Drive home, get ready for the day, head back to the car

3. Hear the telltale sign of a flat: one time it was air hissing, another time it was a friendly driver frantically waving for me to pull over, yesterday it was that terrible crunching sound when you know you’re driving on the rim (oops).

4. Assess the damage.

5. Stress out. At this point of the curse I am always alone, on my way to a place where I just can’t be late. Yesterday it was to class.

6. Call my mom. Calm down.

7. Quickly think of an alternate way to get where I need to go.

8. Ditch the useless car.

9. Spend the rest of the day figuring out how to get to this appointment and that appointment and try, in vain, to get ahold of husband.

10. Usually around 4pm, finally get ahold of husband while, usually, waiting for public transit to arrive at my last destination.

11. Explain the situation, try to figure out how in the world he is going to get home.

12. Enlist the help of friends who are just arriving home from work.

13. Pick up husband thanks to helpful friends.

14. Change the flat, put on the donut.

15. Call every tire shop in the city until you find one that is open into the evening.

16. Wait. Wait. (haven’t eaten supper) Wait. Wait.

17. Reclaim fixed vehicle head to the nearest pub for a carbo loaded dinner and some beers.

18. Finally get home, exhausted, at 10 pm.

19. Sleep.

Bad luck comes in three’s right? So hopefully this won’t happen again.