Neil O. Nelson

This should be good, I was telling myself when I heard the distinct rumbling from under the car.

It’s a flat tire, I said. Watch the road and turn off when you can, I told Barb, my wife, the Baker/DA (Domestic Administrator), who was driving.

Instead, she stops the car in the middle of the road. I’m turning around violently, straining to see if anyone is coming from either direction.

You don’t stop in the middle of the road, I groaned.

“Neil, there’s no one coming, trust me.”

Get off the highway and stop the car where it’s flat, I instructed my driver.

“Yes, sir. Now what?” she asks, after pulling off on a farm road.

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