Brought to you by Pete at Pep Boys for making my car the absolute last one off the lift tonight.

For sale!  One 39 year old with a splinter.  Not only a splinter but a week long one and not just a week long one but one that crunches that crunchy glass sound every time I step down.  I can hear it in my teeth.

That sort of splinter.  And no, the splinter isn't 39 years old but I am.  Did you know when you're 39 you are the Splinter Taker Outer not the Get Splinter Taken Out Person?  *DeepTweezeredSigh*

Sitting at home tonight working out a splinter that kept working in I cried, "Jesus!  I'm the person.  I'm not the kid and I need your help even with this.  Where are you cause it won't come out?!"

I get it.  I get this age.  This adult age that says you are the one that cares for people not necessarily the one cared for.  Damn, babies and old people have it made.

I had, not one, but two flat tires tonight after a lovely dinner.  It didn't bother me too much.  I made it to the gas station before they completely gave up the ghost, put enough air in to make it to Pep Boys.  Everything was okay.  But then I sat in the waiting room with three other women.  Around my age women.  Women that work their asses off to spend the evening getting tires repaired.  Women that needed new batteries because they probably ran into work early in the morning leaving the lights on. I left the waiting room, drenched in the smell of grease and new timing belts, and walked outside to the garage, "Please!  Could you JUST put the tires back on my car?  Just two?  Not four."

I paced and paced and was entirely unreasonable and stayed far enough away to not make the mechanic think I was checking his work but close enough so he knew not to make me the last customer.

I was the last customer out.  I deserved it.

I get it.  I get flat tires.  I get splinters.  I know bigger things happen and just around the corner could be absolute ectasy or tradegy.  For now, for just this one little moment….

I don't want to be at Pep Boys.  And I don't want to be the Splinter Taker Outer.

Somebody hand me a needle and a match,

Cole