On Tuesday I ran over an unavoidable sharp piece of metal while leaving a work meeting and ended up busting two tires and putting some nice gashes in my passenger side wheels.
After dealing with a tow truck and tire replacements, Michael and I headed over to meet up with my dad and family for dinner since he had just arrived from Mississippi. Both the tow truck driver and a random stranger in the restaurant parking lot drooled over Michael's car, so he was in great spirits despite my stressful afternoon.
Then, on the way home we got stuck in a torrential downpour which included hail and seriously crazy winds that snapped down power lines over the interstate in front of us.
Michael was stressed out enough trying to maintain visibility to get us home safely, coupled with the fact that his
I was thankful to be home safely and for the day to be over. I thought the whole ordeal was behind us, but now every time we get in my car Grayson is obsessed with talking about flat tires. If we pass a car parked on the side of the highway he asks, "Does that car have a flat tire? Does that car have a boo boo?" and on and on and on.
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