After I got my driver's license, my mother took me outside one day, opened the trunk of the Chevrolet Caprice that we owned and showed me the spare tire. "Get it out of the trunk," she said. I did as I was told because I certainly didn't want to do anything to upset the keeper of the car keys of my newly found freedom mobile. "Now, get the lug wrench and jack out," she said.

"Why?" I asked recklessly when my curiosity overtook my better judgment. Mother never particularly liked to be asked that question about any of her directives.

"You're going to learn to change a tire. Everyone who is a responsible driver must know how to change a tire in the event of a flat."

"Okay." So after a few instructions on the best place to set the jack, I began the seemingly hopeless task of loosening the lug nuts on the wheel. My mother patiently sat and watched me until I had completed the entire process and had the spare tire on the car.

"Now, take the spare tire off and put the other one back on. Be sure to get the lug nuts good and tight because you don't want your tire to come off going down the road. I'm going in the house and get a glass of tea. Let me know when you're done." With that, she proceeded to leave, and I finished the task alone. When I was finished, I was hot and sweaty but fostering a great sense of accomplishment and pride in the fact that I could take care of myself when I was out there cruising the roadways. You have to remember this was before the days of cell phones where I could just pick up the phone and holler "Help!"

Down the road here years later, my husband and I find ourselves cruising down the interstate in our little BMW roadster when my husband says, "You now, I think we have a flat." He pulled over to the side of the highway, and sure enough, there it was, the rear tire flat as a flitter.

After we had purchased this cute little sports car, we had discovered that the back tires on the car were wider than the front tires, a fact that had escaped our attention at first because we were so intrigued by the fact that we could both get into so small an environment as the seats. We might should have listened to Mother's sage advice about checking on things like the location of the jack, the spare tire and the lug wrench before we began our carefree travels because we found ourselves now in the predicament of locating such things.

"Get the manual out of the glove box and see what it says," my husband said.

Me and my ever quick wit but bad judgment replied, "I didn't think BMW's had flats. I'll bet the manual says call AAA." My husband, whose sense of humor was a little lacking at this point, just glared at me. I started flipping through the manual.

For those of you who need this information, the spare is located underneath the car, and the jack and other things are located in a cute little toolbox area hidden in the trunk. After reading and getting the flat tire off and the spare tire on, we packed everything back into its little fitted compartment. That is, except the flat tire which wouldn't fit in the trunk. My husband maneuvered and pushed and crammed and still the tire wouldn't go in the trunk. "Well, I don't know what to do with it," he said.

I looked in the manual but there was no help there because apparently the people who write the manual thought the good fairies were going to cart it home for you. So we did what any great thinker does in this situation -- we stood there and stared at it for several minutes. It's interesting to me that most of us will stare at a problem a long time thinking that it will just solve itself if we wait, but alas, that was not the case with the tire.

Finally, my husband arrived at a solution. "You drive and I'll sit with the tire on my lap." Which is what we did. For approximately 60 miles down Interstate 55 in North Mississippi doing 50 miles per hour (because that's the recommended speed written on the spare tire), we drove while irritated motorists constantly swerved around us I'm sure fussing and cussing.

Later, when we took the car to the BMW doctor here in town for its oil change (apparently BMW has to have a specialist even for an oil change, another fact that had alluded us), we told him about the problem with the tire. "Where do you put the thing?" my husband asked.

Doc (yes, he really does go by that name) laughed and said, "The best you can do is stick it in the trunk and tie the lid down with a bungee cord." Sounds like something my family did with their old '59 Ford.

So a word to the BMW car makers out there. First of all, there needs to be a better solution to the problem of where to put your flat tire, and second, you need to write something in the manual about where to put it, even if you're only going to tell us to put it where the sun don't shine.