When I got to O'Toole's Pub in Centreville (it was for a birthday party), I took a look at the right tires and didn't see anything, and I was able to drive home on it okay.
I had a nagging feeling, though, so I took another look this afternoon (I forgot to look when I grabbed the paper this morning) -- there must have been a slow leak, because, the right front tire was dead flat. So I had no choice but to put on the spare (not that I hadn't also learned my lesson from my previous flat tire experience.)
All things considered, it was an ideal flat tire scenario -- still light out, not raining, right in front of my house, plenty of time to put on the spare, limp to the closest gas station to add 40psi worth of air, and drive to the tire place, which is open until 7pm and conveniently located next door to the Greenberry's Coffee. (So I brung the laptop with me.)
It all went by the book -- I chocked the back wheel, loosened the lug nuts (Dad always insisted we pack a full-size 4-way lug wrench -- it gives you a lot more leverage than the little ones, though if you're on the side of the road, you might not have enough room for the big one), jacked the car, changed the tire, done.
It would have been perfect... except I forgot to take the chock off the back wheel, so I backed over it and broke it. Oops.
Anyway, so now I'm having a scone and a latte, waiting.