The task I was faced with: putting the new license plates on the car
That would be the new Honda Insight by the way. A hybrid. This totally makes up for the fact that I still use plastic bags. Sorry. I try to remember to bring my mesh bags but I forget since I usually have a screeching two year old at my side.
Anyhow, usually my husband changes the license plates. But my husband isn’t here. So I had to do it. Before he left he showed me the tool that I needed to use. For some reason it reminded me of a duck.
“So use the duck tool. Check,” I said.
Tom looked confused as he eyed the tool he was holding. “The duck tool?” He pulled a horrified expression because heaven forbid a woman refer to a man tool as an animal.
On Sunday I tucked the new license plates under my arm and headed out to the garage to find the duck tool. I thought Tom had left it in his tool chest.
But it wasn’t there and okay, I started to panic. I opened and re-opened the drawers and may have uttered some naughty words.
I marched back in the house and dialed Tom’s number.
“Where is the duck tool?” I boomed when he picked up.
“Do you ever say hello first?” came Tom’s response. “You can’t just call someone and---"
“THE DUCK TOOL!”
I’m sorry but it was hot that day and I was nervous about putting the plates on. I had very little patience.
“It’s not a duck tool. The WRENCH is in its case,” Tom replied.
“Thanks,” I said and hung up.
I went to the wrench case and found what I was looking for. Tom had even set it up with the correct size. Phew.
Then I headed for the car and took a deep breath. This is it. I can do this. The screws came off easily and I began to feel quite pleased with myself.
I am woman. Watch me change my own license plates. Oh and hear me roar.
I even emitted a roaring noise which made my neighbor raise an eyebrow at me. He was spraying his yard with weed killer and I guess he’s not used to women roaring in his presence.
I got the new license plate in place and started tightening the screws. Only nothing was happening. I’d twist and twist and the screws were not tightening.
I jumped to my feet, threw my hands in the air and muttered, "What the fuck?"
An amused grin played at the corner of my neighbor's lips as he sprayed a huge chunk of weeds.
Then my eye caught something. A black toggle on the back of the duck tool. Hrm.
I decided to press that down and guess what? After I did that, the tool tightened the screws.
Well, excuse me! I thought it was just there for decoration. There are always extra pieces of STUFF on purses and shoes. For decoration. But now that I think of it, I imagine tools don't have decorations because they're boring.
I was so thrilled with myself for figuring it out that I didn't even notice the buzzing sound beside me. I was happily tightening the screws and thinking to myself, "If I can do this, I can do anything! Lalala."
"There's a bee on your shoe," my neighbor called out.
How nice. A bee on my shoe, most likely praising me for--
THERE'S A BEE ON MY SHOE?
I took off across the yard, waving my hands over my head wildly and screaming at the top of my lungs. In the process I also started kicking off my shoes and they flew across the driveway.
"BEEEEEEEEEE! BEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I screeched.
The neighorhood kids, including my son, were all clustered in the middle of the cul de sac. They all tossed me bewildered looks as I raced across the yard.
Then I realized that I probably looked like a complete wimp and forced myself to calm down.
But look, I've been stung before and it HURT. Of course I should be telling myself that since I was able to push two kids from my junk then surely I should be able to endure a bee sting.
But, see, with my kids I had a lovely thing called an epidural.
I pretended that I hadn't just made a complete fool of myself and calmly walked over to my abandoned shoes.
"Thank you for letting me know," I told the neighbor with a sharp nod of my head.
I pretended that I didn't hear the neighborhood kids (including my son!) laughing at me. I just went back to the task on hand and tried to forget that I had just streaked across my yard.
I moved to the back of the car and removed our temporary plates. This was a little difficult because of the trunk handle. I couldn't twist the wrench around because it bumped into the handle. So this took a little longer.
I refused to put the license plate holders back on though. I am NOT the dealerships free advertisement. Sorry. Last I checked, they weren't making a contribution to my car payments. So I will not display their name unless they want to send me a fee.
But the bottom line is that I did it! By myself! No man.