As I was barreling down the freeway yesterday, my car started to shake. Even when I reduced speed to 40 miles an hour, the shaking persisted. After checking tire pressure at the gas station (I tried to enlist some men's help with that, but none of them were willing to help me. I guess, if I was a svelte blonde, they'd be falling over themselves to figure out my car's problem. They'd probably, be willing to pay for new tires, - if I was a svelte blonde!).
So, today we went to my old tire store. Roberta jumped on the chance to get out of the house, and assured me that she would be able to wait in the store and wait for me, as I go to an appointment with Mr. P.