I'm home this morning because last night, when Patrick and I were driving home from Best Buy (where we picked up our Wii Fit!), while he was driving my car (which he has done several times since I got new tires), he finally understood what I had been trying to tell him about the weird feeling I get when I drive over 60 mph.
All this time (he's driven my car a few times since I got the new tires) he's been pretty much telling me I'm crazy. I've driven quite far on these new tires, and I'm a little pissed off at myself, because I knew something wasn't right but I didn't do anything about it, and instead waited for confirmation from him.
Stupid.
So. The tire store doesn't open until 10 a.m. so I have to wait until then, because now my husband doesn't want me driving on the freeway until I get them checked out.
Sometimes I feel like it's 1950 around here. It's not his fault, I should've followed my instincts, but still. Where's my full skirt and heels? My cashmere sweater? My pearl necklace? Boy that Richie Valens can sing, no?
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