Wrong, of course.
On my way home from Knitting tonight, I suddenly had a very loud front end. It turns out nobody at Skinker and Delmar is interested in helping a well dressed white girl change her tire, but they do enjoy the show. I got a lot of stares as I bounced on the tire iron (in wedges, mind you), and a round of applause with a "You go, Nascar!" from a passing man and his son.
I've changed more tires than I can remember, on at least 5 different vehicles, so it was really no big deal, but this was the first time since my "girly girl" style kicked in. It is a bit more daunting in a beaded top, white button down, and pedal pusher slacks than my old jeans and tees, but I managed well. I even had wipes in the car, so my hands were clean and fresh moments after the last lug nut was wrenched back down.
Post change - note, white shirt: still white!
Tomorrow I plan to drive my little doughnut back in to the station and express my disappointment in their "courtesy" check, but really I will likely just meekly ask for a new tire. Which is what I should have done all along.
