Father’s Day Flat

On Father’s Day, when she got up from her morning nap, we were in the office posting and liking and commenting on all the great Father’s Day posts on Facebook.  And, true to form, she proceeded to motor all around the house looking for us.  A minute or two later she rolled up the hallway and stopped at the office door.  “Oh, there you are,” she exclaimed.  “I was afraid you’d gone out and your tires exploded or something.”

Bill looked at me, shrugged, and went back to Facebook.  I looked at Mom for a beat before asking, “And why in the world would you think our tires exploded?”

“Because they said so on the news this morning.  It’s going to get so hot that you shouldn’t drive your car because the tires could explode on the hot roads.  You better stay put today.”

“But it’s only 10:30 in the morning and it’s not supposed to hit 117 until around 4:00,” I replied.  “And we have to run out to the grocery store for dinner stuff so we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Well I think that’s a pretty bad idea.  You shouldn’t take any chances.  Besides,” she continued, “I’d think that if your tires exploded while you were driving it could really hurt your car.”

“Not to mention your body,” Bill responded, dryly.

“Maybe that too,” Mom answered, turning away to motor back into the living room.  “Anyway,” she called over her shoulder, “I think you should just stay home.  I’m pretty sure nothing will explode here.”

“That remains to be seen,” Bill muttered.  “The day’s still young.”

Flat tires

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