So I’m working at my desk when one of The Boy’s closest friends drives up. In triumph. He’s just earned his N (that’s Vancouver-speak for Novice Driver License, which means he can drive by himself, although he’s limited to one buddy in the vehicle). He also had one of the flattest flat tires I’ve ever seen. I mean, the rim is hugging the ground. He hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t heard a thing, either. I tell him we either called BCAA or he changes it. Does he know how to change a tire? No? But he’s a guy. He’ll figure it out. With The Boy. It takes 45 minutes and a phone call to the car dealership to figure out the security nut. While they do this, The Girl cycles on gravel and falls over, shaving her skin off all round her elbow. Which calls for a round of soap and water, hydrogen peroxide, Second Skin and a lot of yelling. On the bright side, it’s sunny and I need the break. Then the spare tire is on and The Boy and His Friend are driving away, and The Girl is back on the bike and cycling away, and it’s just me and the dog. We look at each other. Then head into the house and back to work.