I hate Mondays

A while back, before my income kicked in, I had a rear tire that I noticed the thread showing on. Yes, I know I should have changed tires when it started getting overly worn, but hell, I couldn't afford sunlight back then, so had to keep putting it off.
My brother had a set of tires he was willing to give me, and the equipment to change them out. Now, my car takes 185's and these were P195's. For those out there reading this who that makes no sense to, the overall diameter of the tire was one inch wider. Not a great difference, and they fit well enough and were completely unworn. I kept my good rubber, and ditched the bald one, intending to put it back on when I got a new tire.

Okay, I completely forgot about it, the tire sitting in the shed out back, and out of sight, out of mind.

Today, my wife went to work, like any other Monday, bitching and moaning and hating life. You know, typical Monday routine. And I maintained my usual schedule, sleeping comfortably in bed, until I gradually wake up naturally to the coffee my wife has prepared and put in a large thermos to stay warm.

Son-of-a-bitch! Wouldn't ya know, she pulled out of the drive, realized she had a flat, and pulled back in. And I had to get up! Fuck Mondays!

Went out, checked to make sure I wasn't asleep still having a nightmare, and sure enough, the bottom side of the damn thing was flatter than Twiggy's chest. So I went into my trunk, pulled out the can of Fix-a-flat, put it on the tire, pushed down the nozzle, and the damn thing spewed goo everywhere but into the tire. Did I mention I hate Mondays?

This being the only transportation we have, I got fully dressed, walked out the back, crossed the railroad, jumped the runoff ditch, traversed the 3 city blocks to 7-11, bought a new can, traversed the 3 city blocks back, jumped over the runoff ditch, waited for the train to pass, crossed the railroad tracks, past the yard, and back to the car. Opened the can, screwed on the little hose, pressed the nozzle, and watched in satisfaction as the tire quickly inflated.

And cussed my head off when it started hissing like a snake with its butt caught in a wringer. FUCK!

Reopened the trunk, took out the jack, and lifted the back of the car. (donut not an option, however, as it is an inch thinner than the current tires I had on my car. DUH) took off the tire, turned it around, and sure as shit, there's a tear in it from the rocks some asshat in the distant past used to cover the drive. Did I mention I REALLY hate Mondays.

Took the tire, rolled it the 4 blocks to the nearest tire store, a little one man shop where I've bought good used tires in the past. He didn't have any. No P195's, no 185's. SHIT. If Monday was a person, I'd fucking shoot it!

Got home, rolling this damn thing all the way, broke out my air compressor, and filled that sucker up.
WallyWorld is about 5 miles away. My tire made it almost two miles before it was flat as a pile of diarrhea. Pulled over, pumped it up with my itty bitty 12V tire pump, (25 minutes) and got back on the road. A little less than two miles down the road, rinse and repeat. another 25 minutes.

Finally got to Walmart, had them replace the worn tire and put my old good tire on the other side.

Drove home, fed the animals, took two pain pills, and returned to my now cold bed.

Mondays. Fuck 'em.