preach on, helen reddy

I tend to describe myself as a pretty independent woman.

I remember very clearly, around the time of my parents' divorce, my mom looked at me and said "Never let yourself become dependent upon a man." This message emblazoned itself on my brain, and I have tried to live accordingly ever since. I can kill my own spiders, mow my own lawn, pay all my own bills, read maps by myself, and use power tools to fix things. I have followed my mother's advice in almost every way, except when it comes to one thing.

Flat tires.

For some reason, whenever I get a flat tire (which happens to me quite often--I can get a flat tire just by thinking about one), my first instinct is to call a boy. I'm pretty sure, in our first year of dating alone, Todd changed three flats for me. I am quick to look for help in this area, and I've even played the "damsel in distress" on the side of the highway and let a benevolent motorist change the tire for me. I know, it's terrible.

But then, today happened.

I was on my way home from running at the park, and as I was driving down the street, I hit something. I could hear a clicking noise, and I assumed that I ran over something that was now stuck and being dragged under the car. So I pulled into the driveway, and as soon as I got out, I could hear the air gushing out of one of the tires. I had hit a pair of pliers, and somehow one of the handles of the pliers had become completely lodged in the tire. (I honestly don't know how these things happen to me.)

My first thought, as I stood there looking at the completely flat tire? Crap, Todd is out of town.

My second thought? I could call my running partner. Since I had just finished running with him, I knew he was out and about.

I sent him a text message inquiring about his availability to help, and as I was sitting in my driveway waiting for his response, I re-evaluated the situation.

1. It was around 9:00am on a Saturday morning, and I really didn't have anywhere else I needed to be.
2. My car was conveniently located in my own driveway, away from any traffic.
3. I was already sweaty and gross from running.

So I asked myself, could there be any better opportunity for me to teach myself to change a tire?
And my answer? Probably not.

So I sent another text message saying that I thought I might have everything under control, and I went to work. Having watched my tire get changed plenty of times, I had a pretty good idea of what had to happen. And, in fact, I only made one mistake, which was jacking up the car before I loosened the lug nuts on the tire. So, I let it back down, loosened the lug nuts, then jacked it back up.

And then I proceeded to change my tire, all my myself. And when I drove it to the tire store in Rivergate, guess what? The spare totally didn't fall off.

And you know what I was thinking then? Oh, yeah:

"I am strong, I am invincible, I am woooooooooooman!"

(You knew that was coming, right?)