Flat.

It was a later night at work today.  My car was the last one on the street and generally-speaking, past a certain hour it is not a good idea to be alone on a dark street in certain parts of D.C.  Unfortunately for me, when I got to my car today my front tire was flat.  Not completely dead-flat, but enough to make my car tilt heavily to one side and question the ride to the nearest gas station.

I weighed my options: 1) change the tire in the dark, rainy, not-crime-free street, 2) take my chances getting to the nearest gas station, 3) tempt fate further by getting to the nearest gas station in a less sketchy area, or 4) call and beg my husband to save me by coming to work and changing my tire for me.

After further consideration, I realized that despite watching and helping Jamie change flats before on several occasions, I had absolutely no idea where to start.  Also, it was RAINING.  Option #1 was out.  While I really wanted to do #4, I knew that would never actually work...so I opted for a hybrid of #3 and #4 which was to call my husband and whine about it a bit, then drive really slowly to the farther gas station.  

The gas station did not change the fact that I still didn't know how to change my tire or that it was RAINING.  Nor was the service shop early because it was late.  So, instead I pumped my tire with air and made the rest of the trek home without incident.  Jamie graciously agreed to change the tire with me once he got home.  Crisis averted?  Let's hope.  Of course, Jamie just got home and it's still RAINING and now it's also kind of late...