Generally being the only man that regularly drops his child at the village nursery, I am sometimes targeted for the ‘jar opening’ jobs, designated for men only, or women who fear not, how butch they look.
As I walked back to my car, I was joined by one of the mothers, for a little chat, or so I thought.
When we made it to the road outside the school gates, where our cars were parked, I was innocently asked “One of my tyres is a bit flat, do you think I’ll get it to the garage?”
Subtlety is not really high on my list of qualities, but perhaps female genetics allow it to breed easier.
Now we both knew the answer to that pointless question, and I duly ended up having to find the jack, the spare wheel and the locking nut – the later only possible after a phone call to this particular lady’s husband.
It’s been a long time since I changed a wheel, and I do actually enjoy doing jobs that make it more obvious I am a male, than not.
I was taught the basics of car maintenance by my father, and can change wheels, oil and windscreen wipers with relative ease.
Seriously, not having these basic skills is a little scary. I mean, a flat tyre can occur at any place and time. And I know if you’re a member of the AA or similar, that you’ll always get home, but if you like getting out of a pickle sharp-ish, then these are a necessary.
Anyway, it was nice to demonstrate more masculine proficiency this week, and boy I needed it.
Friday was a night out with the parents, or more specifically 15 women, of one of our parent and toddler groups. There wasn’t much hammering up of dry-wall at that.