I try to be an independent woman. I was raised by a single mother. I was taught that you don't need a man and that you should only allow a man into your life if he enriches it and makes you feel special (not that you can't make yourself feel special). I even named my daughter after a biblical story about the first women's libber (google it -just ignore all of the vampire and demon references that will also come up, unfortunately). I try to go through life with I can do it attitude . Although, the older I get there are times when Roseanne's little speech about how it is good to be a girl and let the silly men lift the heavy stuff, makes more sense to me.
So there I was after work on a snowy and frightfully cold Alaskan night (I get off work at 11:30pm) realizing that I need to feed the new car. I pull into the well lit gas station on my way home and get out to "feed" the car. I push on the door of the gas compartment, nothing. Okay, I chide myself, it must have a button inside the car as my last 3 cars have all had, how silly of me not to realize that. So I walk around to the drivers side and start looking on the door for the button. I don't see anything with a picture or drawing on it that would lead me to believe it opened the gas compartment, no little cartoon gas nossel or pump. Hum, I start looking at the instrument display and the 4, or is it 5 knobs that extend from the steering column. Lights, cruise, shifting, tilting the steering wheel, etc. Nothing that seems to open the gas compartment. I then look at the instrument panel. This car has tons of buttons. I even discovered a few "secret" compartments. Again, nothing that seems to open the fuel compartment. I am getting frustrated at this point and I am freezing as I have stupidly been doing this inspection with the door open and while half standing/ half climbing on the drivers side. I think, maybe its in the glove box, I realize this makes no sense but I am frozen, tired, and desperate. It isn't. I go out to the gas compartment again and take my gloves off and try to push, pull, bang it open. It doesn't work and now my hands hurt. I look up and over my shoulder at the teenage boy across the deserted station in the store laughing at me. I scowl, I certainly am not going to ask him to come help me now. I realize I don't have my cell phone to call my husband and ask him. I am so frustrated and embarrassed that I want to cry. It is at this low point that the traitor thought enters my frozen brain, "I need a man! Where is that big strong Alaskan man that knows about cars and stupid fuel buttons when I need him?!?" I am ashamed of myself for even thinking it but I can't help myself. I realize that I have been at this for more than 10 minutes. I don't want to give up however as that will mean that I have to admit to myself, and when/if I get home without running out of gas, to my husband that I couldn't figure out how to put gas into my car. Never mind the fact that I owned my first car for 10 years and never knew where half the fluids went in it during that whole time. I knew my husband was going to laugh at me. I would laugh at me if it wasn't well, ME! I start pushing all sorts of buttons. Nothing. I finally have decided that I had better just get in and hope that I have enough gas to make it home and for husband to make it to a gas station in the morning (cuz I sure wasn't going to try to attempt this again that soon). I give a passing glance at the clerk hoping that he has wet himself while laughing at my ignorance and head home. I get home and my husband can tell that from my flushed face and my foul mood that something bad has happened to make me late. I tell him what happened and to his credit, I can see that he is trying not to laugh at me. So after he has graciously listened to my tirade.. I ask him, "So where the heck is the stupid fuel door button anyway?!?" He calmly replies, "It's on the drivers seat." "On the seat?! On the seat?! Who puts the fuel release button on the SEAT????" "Mazda" he calmly states. Now I know.
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