why do I think I need a man?
It was a normal Friday evening. I finished working and was heading home looking forward to a nice shower, dinner and to enjoy the last summer evening that was still lingering into late September.
My commute home is of 40 minutes, on a Friday, it can take up to one hour. I started to drive when I heard a noise in which I tried to ignore it, hoping it would vanish. The car felt slightly heavy and again, I bluntly avoided the possibility that I had a flat tire.
I wonder if I am the only person that deliberately conscientiously do “stupid” things, either out of laziness or in order to test the “universe”. I maneuvered into a busy, ugly filled with potholes road that unfortunately I must take in order to get into the main highway leading home. In the middle of this busy ugly road, it dawned on me that the flat tire was here to stay and I had to deal with it like a grown-up.
I stopped the car briefly, run out and looked in horror at my flat tire. I put my mind into a different geared and understood this is not a joke and I had to pull over and deal with the situation. My first thought was “I need a man”.
Why do we women always think we need a man? I love to have a man to open the door for me, to take me to dinners, to laugh or dance with. I like to have a man to drive, travel, eat with or go hiking or even argue with, but I don’t need a man. I would like to have a man but I don’t need a man, however, at that time I wanted a man to change my tire.
I pulled into a parking lot full of trucks; my hopes went up wishing to see a man in the vicinity when a strange thing happened. I looked into the horizon (the sun was setting) and I felt so blessed to be on the top of my game, to not have to be anywhere specifically at any time. It is as if something within me was telling me I could do this.
I decided to take a pick into my trunk and see what was in there. I took the brand new beautiful kit out. I looked into the spare tire recalling that in my teenage years, back in Brazil, I once changed a tire. Perhaps I could do this.
I started to put the monkey thing under the car in order to lift it. I had to turn the bolts in order to open it. I am not a big woman, 5″6 110 lb but I am quite strong, nevertheless, the bolts were quite tight. I struggled for a few minutes until I recalled that my body weigh could do a better job than my arms could. In the end, I changed the tire.
The hard part was to fit the spare tire into the right holes in order to screw the bolts back. It was weird, not sure why it was so hard.
If I had known changing a tire would boost my self-esteem, affect my mind psychic and overall help my well-being feeling, I would have prayed for more flat tires throughout my life.
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