No. We're not from "around here".
So. I have to start off by saying that I blame myself. Beth blames Julie's ex-husband, Bryan...but I really just blame myself.
(Aren't you DYING to know what I blame myself for? If so, read on...)
The day started off quiet enough...Beth came to pick me up for tennis since she was in the area already and I was just lazy enough to let her. Julie had called us earlier to come down to her place in Charlotte and help her take care of some things, so I figured that I would just ride down there with Beth. The "some things" we had to take care of was going though Julie's box of wedding memories and either burn them or shred them or feed them to the dog or SOMETHING. Point is...there would be no more wedding memories. So, after about 2 hours of looking at pictures from her Roman Catholic wedding (which apparently makes the wedding more official being Roman Catholic and all) and drinking a couple glasses of wine, we made our way to the trash compactor. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a tinge of pride as my girl threw her wedding dress and box of pictures in there. My favorite part of the whole evening was when I told Julie that she should really give her wedding dress away to the Goodwill, at which she replied, "How many 4'2" brides do you really think there are around here?"
Around 10:00, Beth and I decided to make our way back up north. About 15 minutes into our trip (I was in the middle of a fantastic story and of course, since it was a fantastic story...I was using big hand gestures, thus slightly distracting Beth), we suddenly hit a tire in the middle of the road. The hit was so forceful, it cracked Beth's windshield and flattened her left front tire. She managed to get the the side of the road and promptly asked, "So...should we call Thomas??"
Uhhh....no. We should not call Thomas. Although there are many things in life I need (and very much appreciate) men for, changing a tire is not one of those things. Now, don't get me wrong...if there was one around, I would not be opposed to faking an inability to take care of the flat tire. Who REALLY wants to get their hands dirty?? But to actually make a man leave his house to come "save" me...well...not cool. If I'm going to play the damsel in distress, I promise that it will always be for something more interesting than a flat tire.
So after we changed Beth's tire (which, B, T, dub...was a full size tire...props to Beth for rockin' that), we went to check on the other 6 cars (SIX cars hit the same stupid tire in the middle of the road), to see if anyone needed help. The second car we came to had this girl (I later find out that her name is Sharon) sitting in the driver's seat with the widest eyes I'd seen in a long time. She was obviously freaked out and couldn't get anyone to come help her. So, Beth and I started helping her change her tire. Guess who decided to come help us once they saw that we were actually doing it on our own? Two men. Did they offer to help Sharon any time during the last half hour of her sitting there by herself? Of course not. But now, since 2 other girls have come to actually do something, they decided to interject. Were they GOOD at changing tires? No. They weren't. I believe that we could have gotten the whole thing done faster had they not been around. Here's why...
1. We were not wearing clothes that were very conducive to tire changing. Let me paint you a picture...Beth is bending down, trying to get the jack, well, jacked and there are two men staring at her back side. I'm not an idiot...I can totally see where their line of vision is headed, so I stand behind her...trying to block the "view".
2. They were SOOOOO slow. We ended up using Beth's jack, because they said that the other one didn't work. Really? A jack that CAME WITH THE CAR, didn't work? OH, REALLY!?!? Do you think that maybe it didn't work because they weren't using it right?
I'm not sure if Sharon appreciated my eye-roll and saying under my breath, "Men", but she was kind enough just to smile and say, "Thank you so much for helping me". Sweet girl, that Sharon.
So...while the guys were showing us how to do something that we did for ourselves not 10 minutes before, they said to us, "So...you girls aren't from around here, are you? We knew that when we were watching you take the bolts off the car."
Okay...first...you were WATCHING us take the bolts off the car and then you decided to come help once we had that taken care of? CREEPY!
Second...no...we AREN'T from "around here". We are from the Midwest...where we have parents that care enough about us to not let us be helpless females on the side of the road. Did we need you? No. Thanks for the friendly conversation while you are so blatantly staring at my butt. You're a pal.
So...I blame myself for the situation because I was being so flamboyant with my hands. Beth blames Bryan for being such a jerk of a husband that Julie needed to have a dramatic purging (PURGE!) of her wedding paraphernalia, thus taking us down to Charlotte in the first place.
Moral of the story:
Ladies....learn how to change a tire.
Guys...don't assume your gal doesn't know how to change her own dang tire.