adventures of a damsel in distress

I try to be a competent, smart, strong, independent woman. One thing I'm really good at is opening jars. When I imagine my future husband and I living in a house together, I always picture him having trouble opening the pickle jar. I'll reach out my hand, he'll hand me the jar, and in one liquid motion, I'll finesse the lid off the jar, so my husband can enjoy a nice crisp, dill, Claussen pickle, cause he sure does love his pickles. I think this is a pretty accurate picture, because I really am good at opening jars.

However, when you get right down to it, I am a helpless girl, fitting most of the stereotypes I despise. I really hate to admit it. I shouldn't even bother trying to keep up the image that I'm not a pathetic girl, because everyone on 95 saw right through me today. I was just driving along, and suddenly I got a flat tire, so I pulled off the road, ready to fix it. I went to unscrew the spare from the trunk. But...I couldn't even manage to get it unscrewed. Neither direction seemed to be working, so i just gave up. Armed with no cell phone, there was nothing for me to do but turn to the crowded highway in my little dressy work skirt and wave someone down. So two men had to stop and change it for me, and I had to use this dude's cell phone.

Flash back about a month, and you'd see me sitting in a random church parking lot, with another flat tire, waiting for Andy to come fix it. That's right, my friend's boyfriend came to fix my tire. You'd think by now I'd have learned. I mean I know how to change a tire, but I'm not sure I could actually carry it out. Cause I tried today. Maybe I didn't try hard enough, but it just goes to show you, I'm a wimpy little girl in a pretty little skirt and heels who doesn't know anything about cars and seems to have horrible horrible luck with them, and although I may have decent biceps, they're not fooling anyone.
What a disgrace.