Getting Lost and Claiming it was to Look at the Christmas Lights

That was my Friday night, essentially.  Well, not all of it.  Let us not forget the Christmas concert where I accidentally wound up sitting smack between two old couples (I don't want to talk about it), I started crying during the Home Alone song because "Christmas is beautiful!" and "I guess I might want kids eventually some day!" and then I lapsed into this weird overly-comfortable place in which I almost leaned my head on the old man's shoulder next to me.  So that happened first, and then I got lost on the way home....even though Phoenix is laid out in a grid....and I had my phone and a GPS in my car.  So I told myself that I wasn't lost, I was just taking the long way to enjoy the Christmas lights.  But really, let's face it.  Of course I was lost. 

I know I'm annoying to drive with.  I skip to a different song before the first one's done playing, and I have to see what's on ALL 12 programmed radio stations before I pick one because even if I find a song I like, there might be a better one playing somewhere else and I need to know all the music currently going on that is available to me.  And anyone who's driven with me in Salt Lake knows how I freak out about merging.  And on top of it all, I'm that grandma who will drive in an unnecessary square in order to avoid a left-hand turn.  

So.  I was already being an annoying driver.  And then I up and get lost because I honestly have the internal compass of (insert here: anything that can't see).  I can pretty much guarantee that in any situation where I need to pick a direction, I will go the wrong way.  Which is just one more reason why I can't go scuba-diving, ever.  (Also, because I don't want to.)

Then, on the actual right way home, my tire pressure light came on.  Zurkon Archimedes!  Why didn't you tell me sooner?!? I felt like a worried mother, and naturally, I took the first exit: Sketchville.  No streetlights, no gas stations, no sign of civilization.  I felt like a damsel (I had my hair in an updo and was dressed up all sparkly for the concert) and I was distressed.  

Eventually I found a gas station where I persuaded the attendant there to come out to my car like three times even though it was raining, and then check all of my tires' pressure for me and let me borrow a flashlight and a second pressure gauge because I didn't trust the first one and my judgment was all clouded by my distress and femininity.  Eventually, a kind-hearted truck driver saw me distressed and inept in the rain, and he went ahead and filled all of my tires for me.  So that all happened and everything turned out fine.  Which makes this a pretty uninteresting story...that you just read.  Sucka!

Unrelated:

Things that are not people to which I owe apologies:

1. My hands.  You would think that frosting cupcakes was delicate pansy work for lady hands, but I don't think I've ever had as many cuts as I do now.  What does that mean?
2. My phone.  The other day I let its battery completely die for the first time since buying it, and I felt like such a traitor.  It kept begging me to plug it in, warning me how depleted its power source was, and I ignored it, like a fool!  As my battery meter decreased to 1%, I felt that growing anticipation, still trying to text while not knowing how much time I had left.  When it finally happened, I wanted to tenderly stroke its beautiful screen and tell it how this was all for its own good, so it would be able to charge better and longer. Which it does now. 
3. That little colony of snails that's taken up residence on the threshold of our back door.  So sorry for forgetting to look where I step every morning and literally (and quite horrifically) crushing all of your little snail dreams.