If I tell you there’s coffee will you go to the tire shop, my husband asked this morning.

He sure knows how to get my attention.

No problem, I replied.

As it would turn out, yes problem, very much problem.

We’d been running on a slow leaking tire for several days. Last night, it gave in. But my husband didn’t know that when he asked me to take it for repairs. He thought I would be able to air it up and then drive the 15 miles to the shop.

So I aired it up and quickly realized that the whoosh of air I was hearing was not from the wind.

I didn’t really want to put on the spare, and coincidentally the tire didn’t want to come off.

I pushed, and leaned, and grunted, and pulled.

I’m strong enough to go through labor with no pain meds but apparently not strong enough to loosen lug nuts.

Granted, it’s been a while, but I don’t remember changing a tire being so confusing. Maybe my memory is off because one time I was more focused on the standoff I was covering and the state trooper who was less than amused to deal with something not gunman related. Or there was that time a car full of drunk men stopped and wouldn’t take no for an answer when they offered help.

I watched a YouTube how-to video, which confirmed that it should be easy to change. I called my husband to ask if there was a secret I was forgetting.

Yes, there’s a special tool, he said.

So I spent some time tearing apart the car looking for said special tool, only to realize that we didn’t have the lug nuts that require the tool after all.

Then, I washed the tire, thinking maybe the nuts were glued on with mud.

Still no movement.

I called my brother who has the same car. Try jumping on the wrench or anything else to add more leverage, he suggested.

Two hours of frustration ended with 30 seconds of jumping on a lug wrench. No special tool required.

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**As I’m writing this post, my husband tells me the tire is flat again despite a patch job. (True story.)**

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