Okay, today it was proven to me exactly how much of a girl I am.
I had a flat tire.
For the past twelve years, all of my automotive calamaties gave been handled with a tearful call to my big, strong man of a husband.
Who was home with the kids this time and told me I was on my own. (Thanks, babe!)
So I'm standing on the side of the road, staring stupidly at a jack. Does anyone know who the idiot who designed those things were? It's like a puzzle box and I'm too blasted dumb to open it.
So I'm standing on the side of the road, staring at the jack, crying because I'm a college educated woman who can't change a tire. They don't teach you things like that in Freshman Comp.
Most people just drove by. They averted their eyes or grinned sheepishly, but they just kept driving.
Only one man stopped to help me. And when I both apologized and thanked him, he simply said any man who wouldn't stop to help a woman in trouble wasn't a real man. I felt like Scarlett O'Hara--I do rely on the kindness of strangers.
Thank the gods for good samaritans.
Without him, I would still be standing on the side of the road, sobbing over a jack and a blown out tire.
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