TACKS, Y'ALL.

Okay, I am PISSED, y'all. Like Britney-with-an-Umbrella mad. Yesterday, I went out in my little red Focus to run some errands, buy some presents and such, and I pulled into the garage. I get out of the car, and it's like YAY, K IS HOME! So we huuuuuug since we haven't seen each other in a few days, and we wind up on the passenger side of the car. K looks down to my tire, and says "hey, what did you run over?" I follow his eyes down to my right front tire, and...

IT'S TACKS, Y'ALL. TACKS. Not just one. A whole BUNCH of effing tacks. So K, being the wonder mechanic that he is, gets out some tools and starts pulling the tacks out of my tire. And I'm flat out in tears, because I've been having a shit day anyhow, and this is really just the cherry on top. So he pulls THREE out, plus two without heads, and they're just sitting there in an evil little pile on the garage floor. Just out of curiousity, I walk to the back of my car to check out the rear tire. And what do I find... MORE TACKS. FIVE more tacks, to be exact. Which means there are MORE in the back tire than in the front. Fucking fantastic.

So K is desperately trying to keep me from having the breakdown of the century and is saying things like "it's okay, baby"... and "they must have just been in the street."

But WERE THEY?

See, this scenario could have gone down two ways.

Scenario A: A cute old schoolteacher comes out of Target carrying bags upon bags of school supplies that she can barely carry herself. She gets to her Buick Stationwagon, pops the trunk, and drops the supplies for her underpriviledged third graders all up in the parking lot. A taped box of tacks hits the ice so hard that it pops open, innocently spewing eight tacks in a neat little row. Poor lady. Maybe you should pick up those tacks you spewed.

Scenario B: Some punk kids are bored to death on a Wednesday night and think it might be funny to line up some sharp weapons in the street. They pull their hoods up over their red beady little eyes at the mall, and loiter near the pole, smoking packs of Kools and watching to see which unsuspecting patron of the Tar-jay will run them over.

I'm going to go with Scenario B, although K tried his damndest to convince me it could really have all been an accident, bless his heart. I just don't see how that would be a possibility given that they are all on the outside of my tire, in a neat little row, spaced almost symmetrically apart. I'd just like to add to this, that these tires are BRAND fucking new. Literally, I bought them in August or September. So now, I have to either have K spend hours trying to find all of these tiny devil holes in my tires, or go buy TWO new tires.

Honestly, this is shaping up to be the best week of my life.