My hero.

Cue the 80s dance sequence...

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light

He's gotta be sure

And it's gotta be soon

And he's gotta be larger than life

Milton was most definitely my hero last night. I'd been hanging out at his house after work. Side note - he made me a home cooked dinner!  It was lasagna, and it was awesome! It was so good, I told him he'd have to make it again sometime soon (like every other week for the rest of our lives). Anyway, as I was headed home on a long stretch of deserted highway, my front passenger tire exploded. From this point on, the rest of this story could have been written as part of my obituary, but (spoiler alert) it has a happy ending.

At first I thought something had hit my car, but luckily I was able to keep driving for a few feet and get my car safely to the shoulder. After a brief inspection of my vehicle, I assessed that my tire was dead. Have I mentioned I have awesome mechanic skills? I immediately called Milton. I was really just letting him know what had happened and was hoping he might come keep me company while I waited for the auto service to assist. He, of course, was happy to help.

When he got there, I was still trying to explain my location to the 18-year-old call center representative who's clearly never been to Oklahoma or read a map. My conversation was going something like this:

Me:  Hi, I have a flat tire and no suitable spare. Can you send someone to tow my car?

Auto Service Moron (ASM):  Sure, where are you located?

Me:  I'm heading East on Kilpatrick turnpike. I'm between the Yukon and Wilshire exists.

ASM:  Is that in Oklahoma City?

Me:  I think technically I'm in Yukon, OK right now.

ASM:  But the address on your account says Oklahoma City.

Me:  I drive my car lots of places.

ASM:  What was the last business you saw?

Me:  There was a 7-11 about 10 miles back in Mustang. I'm not sure you understand where I am. I'm in the middle of nowhere on the Kilpatrick turnpike heading East between the Yukon and Wilshire exits.

ASM:  I'm not seeing a Kilpatrick turnpike on the map. Can you spell Kilpatrick?

Me:  C-A-N-I-S-P-E-A-K-T-O-A-N-A-D-U-L-T?

(This might be a good time to point out that I'm not so nice in crisis situations.)

ASM:  Oh, are you on the John Kilpatrick turnpike?

Me:  No, I'm on the Kevin Kilpatrick turnpike.  Yes.

ASM:  Are you heading North or South?

Me:  The turnpike runs East and West. I'm heading East.

ASM:  (a little too sarcastic) It looks like it runs North and South.

Me:  I'm heading East. Technically my car is facing North right now, but that doesn't change the direction the highway runs. I'm in the Eastern lane of the turnpike.

At this point the Auto Service Moron proceeded to put me on hold for 45 minutes so she could find a suitable service provider to tow my car. She was very  helpful to check in every 5 minutes or so to let me know she still couldn't find anyone willing to come help me. Everyone was apparently busy sleeping, which is what I wanted to be doing.

The whole time I'd been having this conversation from hell with the Auto Service Moron, Milton had been trying unsuccessfully to change my tire. I explained that my spare wasn't exactly functional, and I had zero tire changing tools. Milton wasn't deterred. He had tools. He tried and tried to get his own jack to fit under my car, but SUVs and my little car are built differently. Nothing would work. He gets lots of points for trying.

Meanwhile, I was getting impatient. At one point Milton asked me what I wanted to do. My suggestion was to set the car on fire and ride off like Thelma and Louise, minus the whole cliff thing. I was serious too. Milton wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the plan. Instead, he found a tow company that understood basic driving directions. They arrived in about 15 minutes.

Here we are waiting for the tow truck. Please forgive the terrible lighting. It was very late, and I was very pissed off.

Here's the fun part: From the second Milton arrived, I didn't really have to do anything. He took care of everything. He's such a good boy. As a bonus, his calm demeanor and generally pleasant disposition calmed me down from the peak of the anxiety-fueled rage that had started boiling over about the time I had to explain how highway directions work to some girl who probably doesn't even have a driver's license. 

I remember the days, not so long ago, where I had to tackle every challenge on my own. I could take it. After all, I'm a smart, successful, independent woman. There's not much in life I can't handle on my own. But here's the thing - I don't want to. For the past several years, I've been anxious desperate longing for someone to share the burdens of life with me. I wanted someone to reassure me everything would be okay while I waited on the repair man, the test result, the casserole...everything from the big stuff to the little stuff. I wanted someone to be there.

Milton was definitely there. It was so romantic to watch him handle everything. The whole time I just kept thinking, this guy is here for me. He's here to help me, because I'm his favorite, and he cares about me.

I think he'd definitely be there for the next crisis too. As he was taking me home, I joked that having a girlfriend sure was a hassle. You never know what you'd be asked to do next. Milton never missed a beat: "It's not like you asked for a kidney."

Not yet.