Last week during one of our carpooling sessions Tiffany bragged, "I changed the lightbulb in my closet yesterday."
Now, I have learned a lot about Tiffany from these carpooling sessions. John and I are not morning people; neither of us are terrific at conversing at 6 AM. Tiffany does a great job keeping up a running monologue for the drive up the mountain while John snores in the backseat and I only need to contribute the occasional question or "Mmm...." It works well, even if the minutia of her recaps sometimes amaze me. This time, though, she had a point.
"I didn't wait for my dad or my boyfriend to do it," she said. "I changed it all on my own. And it was high up there. I had to balance the stepladder on two chairs!"
Ah. I was worried for a moment that she thought just changing a bulb on her own was an accomplishment. Then again, I've never been good at being the "get the boyfriend to do it for me" type of girl. This week alone I've repaired and reinstalled a washing machine, fixed a toilet, dealt with an overactive fire alarm, cleaned out and reassembled a robotic litter box, and stenciled two small walls, all without breaking a nail. I congratulated her on the achievement, even while I was recalling my own choice of tactics for reaching too-high objects.
Shortly afterwards we passed a car with a flat tire on the side of the road. "That's why I have AAA!" Tiffany proclaimed. "I've never had to change a flat tire in my life."
"Huh," I said. "I just change them myself. It's not too hard."
She looked a little defeated. "The bolts are hard to loosen," she said.
"I once got a flat on a date," I said. "The guy stayed in the car while I changed it."
"Now that right there's a sign," she proclaimed. On that point I had to agree.
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