I am, without a doubt, the most neurotic person I know. Seriously.  I do not understand how to be easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl. Everything pretty much freaks me out. All of the time. It's an exhausting way to live but I don't know how to be any other way.

Anyways, Tuesday I had to go to Asheville. After my breakfast meeting, I got into the car to head to the office. I should backtrack for a moment and tell you that while I was filling up earlier that morning, I actually thought to myself how much I love having a newish car and how it's such a relief to only see green lights on the dashboard. Seriously. My old car was a piece of giant crap and lights were constantly coming on that indicated SOMETHING WAS WRONG and sometimes they'd just come on BECAUSE and the thing was falling apart and it basically gave me a giant headache and I perpetually thought I was going to have a tire blow out or the engine would explode and that I would die. It was that. kind. of. car.

So my newish car is one shiny, happy moment of OMG I Am Not Going to Die Awesome and I love it.  And I thought about how much I love it on Tuesday morning. Um yeah. Cue something to fuck that shit up.

I was en route from breakfast to the office when: an orange light mysteriously and unexpectedly appeared on the dashboard and OMG I HAD A WHOPPER OF A PANIC ATTACK BECAUSE HOLY HELL CAR - WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME? I had no fucking clue what the little horseshoe with the 3 dots above it meant and worse: WHY ARE YOU ON? I mean, I am smart enough to know that an orange light doesn't mean crap your pants pull over and stop. Red lights are panic lights. But when you are as neurotic as I am, orange lights are basically panic lights too. 

You know the first thing I did? I tapped my brakes to make sure they were still working.  I think I've seen too many stories in the news about runaway Priuses. Not that I drive a Prius. Or even a Toyota for that matter. Which seriously? If I did drive a Toyota? How awesome an excuse would that be if you got caught speeding. "Sorry officer. The floor mat must have been caught in the accelerator and THAT'S why I was going 85 in a 60."

So the brakes worked which - PHEW - and I eventually made it to the office where I pulled into the parking lot and dove under the passenger seat to get the owner's manual (which thank heavens I actually knew where it was because for the longest time I didn't) and I furiously thumbed through until I found the page that says what all the funky symbols on the dashboard mean and long story short? Tire pressure. Cue second panic attack (or really just a continuation of the first panic attack) because fuck me, I am 100 miles from home.

So I go into the office and immediately see my boss and tell him all about the orange light/low tire pressure drama and he seriously looked at me like I was insane because apparently low tire pressure is nothing to have coronary over but I made him come outside with me anyways and we looked at my tires and they *looked* fine and he said they could be off by a pound or 2 and the light may come on. He said sometimes it comes on because the spare is low.

Still, I told him I was going to call AAA and have them take a look (because, you know, I'm neurotic like that) and he told me not to bother with AAA just to run it up the road to his car dealer and let them take a look. So I did.

When I pulled up, the Car Dealer Dude came out to greet me and was all "So you're the girl who thinks her tires are going to explode" and he wasn't being mean - just a little playful - and I was all "HAHAHAHAHA" and then "Yes." And then I told him the ENTIRE history of my car from when I bought it at the end of September and how many miles were on it when I drove off the lot (9889) to how many miles were on it now (over 22,000) and I even walked him through my 15,000 and 20,000 mile check-ups. I know. I'm nuts.

He listened to the epic saga and then they take it out back to have a look see and he tells me it's probably nothing and I am sure he's probably right and frankly, I feel better already just KNOWING that very soon there will be an explanation for why my newish car is already falling apart.

A few minutes later Car Dealer Dude reappears and I am all ready to feel shameful for over-reacting except: turns out I have a nail in my rear left tire and it's down 10lbs of pressure. WTF? SERIOUSLY? And OMG yeah me for being neurotic because I am pretty sure that would have been a problem on the 100 mile drive home.  He tells me they've filled it with air and that there's really no point in getting it fixed because I need new tires. Which I kinda sorta knew. I mean - at my 20,000 mile check up my dealer told me I'd need new tires and I told them they were high because my car is practically new and they told me that dealers put crappy tires on new cars and you're lucky to get 20,000 - 25,000 miles on them and that by my 25,000 mile check-up I'd definitely need new tires and I said ok I'll wait til 25,000 miles because holy hell - tires are fucking expensive.

So Car Dealer Dude tells me I need new tires and not to bother fixing the one with the nail. And I'm all: well, will the air you put in the tire just now this very second hold? Will I be able to drive home? Or will I be driving along I-40 going down the mountain through the Pisgah National Forest and have to take one of those runaway truck ramps when my tire blows or possibly worse CAREEN OFF THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN AND DIE IN A FIERY WRECK? He couldn't really say for sure.

We debated for about one hot second about slow leaks versus fast leaks and whether or not I'd make it home ALIVE and my neuroses were pretty much palpable at this point and so he called Ernie at Jan Davis Tire and told him I was coming and could he please take care of me.

Long story long? Ernie patched my tire for a mere $20. And by patch I mean he went in from the inside and actually fixed it and didn't just plug it. And Ernie was able to assure me that his patch job would get me home. Also? Ernie told me that my tires were basically as slick as he'd ever seen and I'd need new tires. So I'm getting new tires today. And I totally sprung for the Michelins because I drive over 400 miles a week which means my life is literally riding on my tires. 

There are 3 lessons to be learned here.

One. Being overly neurotic might just save your life.

Two. If you're going to have tire problems, I totally suggest having them in Asheville because everyone there is in general really nice and even though they are kind of judging you for freaking out over something which is no big deal, when they realize that you're right and they're wrong they'll totally stop judging you and they'll actually help you. Also? When they are judging you they're still kind of nice anyways because it's Asheville and apparently everyone there is kind of Zen.

And three.  Don't schedule a breakfast meeting at 8am that is 100 miles away. Seriously. Even a goat cheese laden omelet and really good hash browns can't ease the sting of having to get up and drive that far at the ass crack of dawn.