Hanging around the house all day and not doing much of anything is, generally, my idea of a really good time. But somehow, the instant that leaving the apartment becomes an impossibility, staying there drives me bananas. Did that make any sense?
Maybe this will help clarify. Below is a photo of the "good"tire....
For you city dwellers, whose main transportation drama is figuring out which pair of capri's contain your metro card, the alien object pictured above is the part of the car that makes contact with the road. See those strands of rubber all dangling around the inside? See how they tickle the brake line, tempting it to detach? Yeah, not scary at all. Oh and it doesn't look like the inside of my tire had an episiotomy either.
Hey now, you should see the bad tire.