This is a story about glove compartments

Can you do me a favor- she asks. As if it were really I question, as if I might say no, but this is how she asks for things.

Can you check the pressure in my tires--the left rear looks a little, ya know, low?
Yeah, I know-- so I go out to the car and open up the glove box to find- the following:

four receipts for oil changes-
five empty boxes of mints-
two unopened feminine hygiene products-
three pens (none that work)
a coupon for a free cheeseburger (expired October 2005)
and not a single tire pressure gauge-

Do I- deliver the mess to her desk (she is at the computer)- or leave it as is- and drive
the car to the parts store to buy her a gauge? Yes, the latter, and fill it up with both air and gas.

And probably mention that she needs a second purse for her car- just to see her get that scrunched up face-
and probably have to duck a thrown ball of paper.

This is what we call Saturday.

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