Poor helpless me

In general, I love being competent.  I have little time for the helpless female role.  The other day, however, I wished I were more of the damsel in distress type of girl.

It was snowing and freezing, but I was on a mission.  I needed to get to Wal-Mart, the doggie park for my darling Pup's don't-drive-me-crazy exercise, Sam's Club, the grocery store, and the library.  All those stops and a two and a half hour window in which to do them.  Not a problem.  Until I got to my car.

Stuck on ice in the driveway behind my landlord's van.

Three flat tires.

No windshield wiper fluid.

Gas gauge hovering above E.

At this point the damsel in distress music should have begun, but I pointed out earlier I'm not really the type.  I put pup in the car, switched my heels for those infamous snow boots, and chipped out the snow and ice to get traction to get around the van.

I knew there was an air pump at the gas station a block down on the corner.  I inched the car there only to be greeted by a large "Out of Order" sign covering the air pump.

Sigh.

I filled up with gas and topped off the wiper fluid.  Then I inched back out onto the road.  I knew there was another service station three blocks up.  I very, very slowly drove that way.  The man in the car behind me was less than appreciative of this fact and did not seem to care one whit that my tires were flat.  He honked his horn at me. Continuously.

For three blocks.

This is why I sometimes think being competent is overrated.  DH would never have let this sort of thing happen if I were the helpless maiden type.  He would have puffed out his manly chest, checked everything, and taken care of all problems beforehand so his dainty little wife wouldn't have to dirty her pretty hands. I explained this theory to my neighbor and revealed my new plan to be helpless.

He smiled and in his darling Polish accent informed me, "That's good idea Q, but no one who has met you will buy it."

Unwanted knights

I hear that chivalry is dead. I accidently developed an excellent experiment that seemed to prove otherwise. Men are quite gallant - more so than I wanted. The experimental protocol:

Step 1: If at all possible, be female. If you can't pull off step 1, the test may not work quite the same way.

Step 2: Once you are on the highway, notice that your car is pulling to the left just a tad and recall that you meant to stop and put air in it before you left. Sigh heavily at your terrible memory, and pull over to the side of the road. Do your absolute best to be wearing a dress and very high heels. It would most likely work with other clothing choices, but this will be a definite aid.

Step 3: Put on hazards. Get out of car. Note that the stupid tire is all the stupid way flat. Toss your hair angrily over your shoulder, annoyed that you don't have a ponytail holder so your hair is going to be in your face while you change the tire. Be thankful you figured this out before you ruined the tire. Open trunk. Bend over to pull out spare. At this point, the first car should be stopping.

Step 4: Thank the gentleman for stopping and explain that you just have a flat and don't need his assistance. Tell him again. Give up and let him take the tire out of the trunk. Show him how to loosen bolt so he can get tire out. Tell him again, firmly. Thank him for his phone number. Assure him you don't want him to be late. Send him on his way. Roll tire to front of car where flat is. Go back to trunk to pull out jack and tire iron.

Step 5: Try not to get hit by second car pulling over. Explain to nice man that you have things under control. Thank him for stopping. Assure him you can do this. Give up and let him crawl under car to put jack in place. Politely pull tire iron out of his hand. Send him on his way with profuse thanks. Crawl under car and move jack to proper place. Start loosening nuts.

Step 6: Wipe grease from hands off on napkin first guy gave you with number on it. Notice you have a smear of dirt on your leg from the jack and a smear of grease on your forehead from the tire. Laugh, start to wipe it off. Jump toward ditch to avoid getting hit by third truck stopping.

Step 7: Explain to three guys that you are almost done changing tire. Get picked up and set on tailgate of truck by the one who looks fourteen. Chastise him about manhandling and hop down. Ask if his mother would approve of that. Notice him looking sheepish. Check time. Let them finish changing the tire. Thank them profusely. Jump in car, roll down passenger window, blow a kiss, and tell them that their mothers would be very proud as you drive away.

I appreciate the chivalry, really I do. I think it's darling when men stop to help women. I would just rather they only stop if they actually know how to change the tire.