The Kevlar Tires

Tires.

They don’t really thrill me, you know? But they thrill my husband Tom.

He needed new tires for his truck. So we went to Sears and he looked around.

And he looked.

And he looked.

Oh, and he looked.

“Jesus Tom, what are you looking for? If you’ve seen one tire, you’ve seen them all!” I moaned beside him. Seriously, I was trying to keep my mouth shut. But he’d stare at a tire, rub his chin, make this “hmmmm” sound, and then step over to the next tire. If he continued on at that pace, we’d be in the store for hours.

“I want to make sure I make the right choice,” Tom mumbled, stroking his chin again.

Then a Sears worker approached and they started speaking tire back and forth.

I was bored.

And I was trying to get Natalie to stop climbing on the display tires.

“I climb,” she’d say proudly and I’d have to scoop her up. Of course this pissed her off so she’d start to thrash and Tom still stood there LOOKING AT THE TIRES. It must be nice to shop and tune out everything. When I shop I still have to focus on the kids. But no, Tom was in the Land of Tire.

“And this tire is lined with Kevlar,” the Sears worker was saying.

You’d have thought that he had said that Megan Fox came free with a set of four tires or something. Tom’s face just lit up. I guess Kevlar is a magic word for men.

“Kevlar,” Tom repeated, doing the chin stroke thing again. He touched the Kevlar tire tenderly. “Kevlar.” It was like he was in a trance. I suppose I can understand. I get that way when I first step into Barnes and Noble. It’s like I can’t believe that there is a place filled with my two favorite things: books and cheesecake.

“I want the Kevlar lined tires,” Tom practically drooled.

“Wow, wow,” I cut in. “How much?” It really is a good thing I come with Tom when he makes big purchases. He seriously could be swindled. If he wants something, he just starts to hand over his credit card. He doesn’t even ask about any discounts.

We were told the price—it was pretty much what I estimated for a big honking truck—and then we told the guy that we’d come back when we got Tom’s bonus in.

Tom was a little crestfallen. “Not now?”

“Not now, Tom,” I said, pulling him from the store.

A few days later we had the bonus and we were back in Sears.

“I want the Kevlar tires,” he said proudly to the worker.
“I’m sorry. We’re out of stock. We can order them for you,” Tom was told.

You’d have thought that the worker had told Tom that there was no such thing as sex anymore by the look on his face. He wanted the Kevlar tires NOW.

“Are there any other tires you were interested in?” the worker continued.

Tom took out a piece of paper that he had scribbled other tires on. He had done his research, I give him that, and he found that the Kevlar tires had good ratings. He also wrote down other tires just in case.

“What should we do?” Tom’s voice broke into my thoughts. I had been daydreaming about the latest Lost and was trying to make sense of it all. Was Tom really asking me what we should do about the TIRES? Doesn’t he realize that I know nothing about tires? I’ll walk into a store and go, “Will the tires get me from Point A to Point B? Yes? Can I get a discount? Yes? Then put ‘em on.”

“Huh?” I said dumbly. I took Natalie off a tire.

“What should we do? Get another tire? Or order the Kevlar ones?” Tom shrugged.

He seriously was asking me.

“Do what you want. It’s your truck and your tires,” I answered.

“I hungry,” Natalie said, giving me a pointed stare. She was giving me the Look that said, “I’m being polite now but if you make me wait another five minutes, I’m going to scream until my face turns an unhealthy shade of purple.”

“Just…make a decision, we have to eat,” I added.

Tom picked another tire that apparently got one point higher than the Kevlar ones.

“Those are also out of stock,” the worker said.

Tom sighed. I bet he wanted to shout, Can’t a man get some FREAKING tires around here? “Order the tires,” Tom said, deflated. Poor guy.

We ate at Chilis for dinner. The thing that bugs me about eating out is that when Tom’s food comes, he immediately starts to dig in.

“The children!” I’ll always say. “You have to help the children with their food first.” Why doesn’t he get this? He’s had a kid for seven years now. Why doesn’t he get that he has to cut up their food before he can eat? The kids come first. THE KIDS COME FIRST.

“Oh. Right,” Tom said, setting down his burger. He reached over and helped Tommy squeeze out some ketchup. You have to do it for Tommy, otherwise Tommy goes ketchup happy and gets it everywhere. (He’s usually in charge of Tommy, I’m in charge of Natalie when we go out to eat though sometimes I’m stuck taking care of them both when he starts to pig out on his food.)

When we got home, Tom was still in a bit of a funk. He sat down in front of the computer and half heartedly started to play a game.

Then the phone rang.

It was a man asking for Tom. I passed the phone over.

“Is it work? It’s probably work,” Tom sighed, taking it.

It wasn’t work. It was Sears, saying that the tire Tom ordered was actually discontinued. And that oh, they actually DID have four Kevlar tires in stock if he wanted them.

I didn’t know this was what they were saying obviously. I just saw Tom’s face brighten and he went, “Really? REALLY? Awesome. Yes. I’ll be right down.” Then he hung up and rushed to grab his keys.

“Hello?” I said, following him. “What’s up?”

And he told me.

“I get my Kevlars!” he yelled as he ran outside.

Nerd.

He came home about two hours later. I had just finished giving Natalie a bath and was drying my arm off. When I give Natalie a bath I feel like I get one too.

“They’re on!” Tom said. “Do you want to see?”

“I can see tomorrow,” I said, hanging the towel up.

Tom frowned. “Tomorrow?” He looked surprised. “No, you have to see them now. They’re beautiful.”

Beautiful? Huh?

I gave in because I figured he’d be rambling on about the stupid tires if I didn’t. When I saw them I nodded. “They’re….nice,” I offered because what in the world do you say about tires?

“And?” Tom pressed.

And what?

“Rubbery?” I continued. “They look…bigger.” Men love it when you say things of theirs are bigger after all.

“Not really bigger. Just wider. What else?”

What else?

What did he MEAN what else? I already said they were nice, rubbery, and bigger. What more did he want from me?

“Er….the grooves are nice?” I added. It was true. The tires did have nice grooves.

“The better to travel through snow and ice,” Tom said proudly. It was like we were discussing his kid or something.

“Can I go in now?” I begged. It was cold and I was sick of staring at a tire.

“Yes,” Tom agreed. He remained outside for a few extra seconds. I think he was gazing lovingly at his new tires.

That night we did the nasty and afterwards a horrified thought passed through my brain. What if he was thinking about the tires as we were….you know. But no….surely not…

“What’s up? You look weird,” Tom observed.

Normal people would say something like, “Penny for your thoughts.” Tom says that I look weird.

“I just…you didn’t picture your tires as we…you know…”

Tom laughed. “Ew. Gross! What do you take me for?” He pulled me close and kissed me on my head. “Although, now that you mention it, they are beautiful tires, huh?”

Oh for the love of God.

Would you like to see the beautiful tires?

Here:



Don’t they just look like TIRES to you? (And oh, Tom wants me to let you know that the blue paint on the tires will rub off and normally he likes his truck shinier but it’s been too cold for him to wash it. *Insert eye roll here*)