Mowgli wanted to rotate our tires and I did not.
It’s not the first time we’ve disagreed. It won’t be the last. That’s marriage. It wouldn’t even have been an issue if not for the fact that, a couple weeks ago, we decided to sell the car.
Causing Mowgli to really want to rotate our tires
And me to really not.
For what it’s worth, I stood on solid ground. Tire rotation is preventative maintenance and the car was for sale. SALE. Not to be ours any longer. I could hardly be bothered to put fuel in the thing let alone concern myself with uneven tire wear.
But Mowgli wouldn’t let it go and thus forced me to employ diversionary tactics. I packed our precious free time with activities so that there wasn’t any room for superfluous auto care.
Because I love him.
Then, finally, we had a prospective buyer and I thought the whole episode could be put behind us.
I was wrong.
Once again Mowgli brought up the damn tires and now, with time no longer on his side, he needed my help.
“No. Hell no.” I told him. “Not for a million dollars, not for a billion. Not even for love. Why? Because it doesn’t need to be done.”
“I thought you’d say that.” He replied and then my husband, the love of my life, said the ugliest thing I’ve heard come out of his beautiful mouth ever.
“Alright,” he told me, “I will just do it tonight…after dinner…”
After dinner. *GASP* After Dinner! *GASP AGAIN!*
Can you believe the impudence? After dinner is together time, family time, us time. It is for relaxing in each other’s company only. Cell phones are off, cocktails poured, and conversation engaged in. We might play a game but “after dinner” is always labor free.
And Mowgli knows this. Suggesting he work “after dinner” was akin to suggesting he hit a strip club, booze up with the boys, gamble away our savings then fall asleep on the couch in the middle of a video game marathon.
In other words, my husband had just told me that my refusal to help sparked in him a Cro-magnon fire that would burn all night.
I didn’t go down easy. I’ll tell you that much. I stewed hard for a good thirty minutes.
Then I rotated the tires.
Or, more accurately, I talked our sons into rotating the tires.
I still had to supervise (they’re just boys) and that’s almost more work than doing it yourself sometimes.
So I’m still mad.
And just because the car rides smoother and the guy bought it on the spot, doesn’t make me wrong.