"Thank you for calling Miss. Matchmate, how may I help you?" a sweet voice inquired.
Damn, wrong number. Instead of Andrew's Auto, I'd reached a warehouse for re-cycled romances.
"This is Miss. Matchmate. How may I assist you?" the woman repeated.
"I need a new set of tires." I said.
"We’re a matchmaking service, we'll help you find a match," she explained.
"Good. My tires gotta be compatible; they must match," I said.
"You’ve reached the Miss Match matchmaking service. How may I assist?" asked the annoyed operator.
"Got any blonds with extra tires?"
The humming dial tone replied.