Bit of a flap-doodle back there at the last exit.
Streets were small.
Gas station was inaccessible.
I was driving this get-up for only the second time ever, and there was snow, so I was not even in the same fucking zip code as my comfort zone.
And Tim was… well, he wasn’t exactly yelling at me, because you can’t really do that through gritted teeth, so we’ll just call it “loudish clench-scolding.”
But we made it back onto the highway unscathed (no damage to our vehicle or any others, no threats of divorce), and found a truck stop at the next exit.
We ate some lunch, and laughed at our little misadventure over chocolate chip cookies.
Also, Tim is driving now.