Witchy Woman

My father made me the feminist I am today. The story of it is numerous posts and several therapist visits in and of itself. Why am I telling you this now? My car won't start.

I know absolutely nothing about cars. Bronn taught me a few months ago how to change a tire. My mother taught me how by teaching me how to call Triple A. In high school I asked my dad to show me how to check the oil in my car and change it, if need be. He told me basically not to worry about it. Years later, I called him with a question involving the oil and he literally got angry that I didn't already know how to perform the above tasks. Yes, he voted for Bush both times. Why do you ask?

I called him the other night because my car wouldn't start. My dad told me to check the cable connections to the battery, and if need be, to clean them. (I had a problem with this a few weeks before). I couldn't get the bolt to loosen, instead it tried to strip out.

When I told him this as I was struggling with it, he huffed and said,

"You need a boyfriend."

"Yes, Dad, because you totally need a penis in order to wield a wrench. And I do have a boyfriend, thank you very much." He has met Bronn. But he is in denial every time I am seeing someone, referring to them as "that friend of yours." Another story for another day.

"I mean one who knows about cars."

"He does, and he's not available at the moment. You don't need to know anything about cars to unscrew a bolt."

Unfortunately, my father is correct in a way. I was not taught how to work on nor maintain my vehicle. This was not at all unusual in my tiny hometown, most of us girls weren't expected to know anything mechanical, except for the ones on farms. When he grew up, not even then. Again, it's another matter of environment as opposed to biology.