I seem to be quite good at having mis-adventures (and going to the hospital, but that's a far longer story for anyone who would want it). For instance, in mis-adventureland, the last time I attempted to come home after visiting my parents, the bus broke down on the freeway and we sat there for four hours waiting for them to get their shite together. That was last time. 'Never again,' I vowed. Ha. That all went to hell last night.
So I'm on my way to visit my parents, like good daughters do, my dad and I have just picked up my sister from Mad-town, life is great ... and then a tyre blows. No prob. (This was not the infamous tyre change on the Chicago Skyway of four years ago. More details on that if you're particularly interested.) So we're on our way again, we stop for some food, the drive now about an hour and a half behind schedule. We get back on the interstate ... and blow a second tyre.
Yep, you read that right. We blew two tyres in the span of two and a half hours.
Luckily we were about 45 minutes from my parents', so my mum was able to drive and get us while we waited for the tow to come. At some point Officer Noah (the nicest state trooper in WI) came to sit with us and stayed with us until the tow came. And then we were in Waukesha, the armpit of the world. Only about three hours past schedule.
Someone tell me why these mis-adventures keep happening to me?
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