My mother used to have this word that she used to identify those perfect strangers in the world that pop up when you most need them: lost in a city; broken down on the highway; purse stolen. She called them “Runners.” They come in, grant you a little miracle of grace, and disappear forever.

I would like to thank David, my Runner for tonight who insisted, no seriously, INSISTED that he change my¬†tire for me. He ran out between Fantasy Football Picks (a little buzzed) and worked on the tire. When he had to leap up he’d point at me and yell, “Don’t touch ANYthing! Seriously. I’ll be right back and I’ll clean this all up for you!” He apologized that it was taking so long.


I was a little shaken when my tire blew, didn’t know who to call, discovered I DIDN’T in fact have roadside assistance like I thought I did but I’ve changed tires before, it wasn’t really too big a problem for me. But David said, “I grew up in the boondocks of Seattle.” And when I didn’t respond he said, “I’ll never let a woman change her tire. It’s just not right.”

And he told me *I* must be good luck because he was getting all of his picks. I figure it was just his great karma. What a sweetheart.

Thanks, David!