My Achilles’ Heel…

I consider myself to be a fairly strong and independent woman most days – a veritable bad ass if you will.  That is until something goes wrong with my car or in my house that I have no idea how to fix – then I revert to the helpless little woman who needs a big strong smart mechanically-inclined man to save her.   Is that wrong?  Can I be strong and independent and still want to have a fella’ like that at the ready to save me?

I must say, I feel like I am representin’ the sisterhood poorly by feeling so unsettled when these types of things come up – I abhor being so weak and needy.  Here is where my tough girl bravado falls away and I revert to the “I am just a girl” mentality while I look longingly at men who I think could swoop in and remove all the fix-it worries from my life.

Right now all my fix-it worries fall on my daughter Sarah’s longtime boyfriend Dusty, my son Noah or some paid person whose job it is to help those who have no skills.  Every fix-it problem is met with the dread of not knowing what exactly the extent of the problem is or how much it will cost to fix it (and then there is the guilt associated with being so weak and having to continuously rely on others to help fix it) .  It doesn’t help that I have a fairly ingrained distrust of some male-dominated service industries.  I am sure that they can smell the fear and stupidity on me and use that to their advantage to charge me far more than they would someone who knows what the heck is going on (and yes, I know that this is not true of all such places – but over time I have managed to find quite a few that are like this).

So on days like today – days when something is wrong with my car – I long for a man to swoop in and save me from the worry and to do all the things that will need doing to bring my car back to operating at 100%.  There it is, my Achilles’ heel laid out bare.  All it takes is a simple phrase like, “I think it may be your alternator…” coupled with a tremendously busy schedule this next week to make me think my next husband simply must be a mechanic.  Okay – not my next husband – husband days are over.  My next boyfriend simply must be a mechanic and then I can go back to being a bad ass without fear of being thrown back to the status of the little woman every time my car makes a noise or doesn’t want to start.

Not sure what I’ll do when there is a plumbing issue or electrical problems though…how many boyfriends can a bad ass have? 😉

Day four hundred and forty of the new forty – obla di obla da

Ms. C