I know where I'm going

"Don't we turn on Folsom?" Debi asked as we approached the fine
boulevard when her car was ready for pick-up.

"Yes, I know where I'm going." I confidently replied.

"Isn't my car that way?" she queried pointing left as I manuevered
into the right hand lane.

"No, it's this way." I turned firmly east toward the Chevron statioh
she was fortunate to reach after a tire blew out.

OOOPS! U-turn! Redirect our path toward the Big-O Tire Store WEST of
65th where we had taken the car after some good Samaritans put on her
spare.

I knew Big-O was a little hard to see from this approach, but
remembered that it came immediately after a restaurant. As I aimed for
Taco Bell, she said, "It's right here!" oh, after that Italian
restaurant with the Spanish seeming name.

You would not believe that only a few hours earlier I had driven right
to it without misstep. Maybe it was the delightful, distracting Debi.
Yes, let's blame her.

That's what she gets for hiring cheap help. Cheap help! This help
actually paid her! I owed her $18 for a Pampered Chef order. As
neither of us could make change, I gave her a twenty. So, she came
out ahead. Unless you count the $600+ for a new set of tires.