Not So Secret Journal

This year I made a pact with myself to be that little bit more independent, or try to be.

I grew up with 4 uncles, I’m the eldest sibling of 4 little sisters and an adopted brother and I have travelled to the other side of the world alone, but never really thought of myself as an independent woman (stop rolling your eyes), I’ve never lived alone, or even done any DIY.

In fact, the last time I tried to put together a basic toy box, I ended up sawing a bit off because the pieces didn’t fit, when in reality they did, I just had them in the wrong places (stop looking at me like that)

I have always had people around to do hard things for me, some would call me a princess, and if the crown fits, I’ll gladly wear it, you see I spent most of my teenage years as a bog-standard tom boy, and that was fine by me.  So, from the age of 13 to 17, I wouldn’t wear pink, dresses, my life was a big puddle of mud filled football afternoons and just never embracing the curves I had under the snazziest tracksuit that I lived in, I even trained to be a car mechanic (I’ll get back to that bit)

The clock struck midnight on my 18^th birthday and bam, tomboy lena was no where to be seen, I embraced those curves and the boys in the street wondered were the hell I’d been hiding for so long, this is where I presume princess mode was activated.  I didn’t have to do anything technical, I worked in a garage so anything that was wrong with my car, the lads would help me out, if I needed to order parts (that was my job) the lads would basically do it for me and I’d take the credit from the customer. I’m not proud of this in any way, but I had a gift, it was like I was a superhero and I would take full advantage of my superpower.

Then came along my now hubby, who is the technically minded, he fixes, he measures and he generally takes care of all the boy stuff (as I like to call it), I’ll do all of the day-to-day stuff, or the boring chores as they like me to call them and he will just be there, measuring, fixing and building stuff.

I have tried to be interested and want to know how things work, but in all honesty, it bores the shit out of me, when he tries to teach me stuff, it goes in one ear and out of the other, my brain just won’t tolerate it.

So today I figured, I would try and do something that I didn’t really know how to do, it wasn’t the most complicated job and it certainly wasn’t the most interesting job, but it needed doing and hubs is at work, so I thought I’d give it a go and see how far I got.

I took the car out and gave it a bloody good new years wash at the garage, not a drive through job, a proper hand wash with a bit of help from the hoses and brushes (steady on I’m not that good yet), then I drove home and decided to hoover and clean the inside of the car, because what’s the use of having  shiny car on the outside if the inside resembles the tip, so I did all of that and I even used the Febreze.

But on the way to the garage I noticed I needed water in my screen washer, now to be fair to me I knew how to do this on my old car, because the hubs had shown me a million times, but this is a fairly new car, well I’ve had it nearly 12 months and I’ve never filled the washer up, because I’d either make him in doors do it or I’d drive around with none and splash the odd bottle of water over the screen (you’re still looking at me like that aren’t you).

So today I figured I can do this, I can be the woman who can do anything, well most things, okay just this, for today anyway. So, the first thing I needed to do was to find out how to open the bonnet, because the water pot thingy that I needed is under there.

Simple job, so I thought.

I found the lever and pulled it, the bonnet popped open, now I did actually train to be a car mechanic when in was 16, and it had nothing to do with kylie (those who know will know), I did 2 weeks work experience and decided it wasn’t for me, I didn’t mind the constant smell of oil, or the fact that I was covered in shite 90% of the time, it was the boy’s, they were mean and there are only so many practical jokes a girl could take before I decided, I hated being cold and dealing with mean boys.

Anyway, back to it, bonnet popped I just needed to lift it open and find the right pot, but that’s just it, unlike 1991, cars now come with extra bonnet security, and there was an extra switch/catch/or something I needed to find.  I searched and poked and I couldn’t find it, so I did what I know how to do, I went to ask my neighbour, but he wasn’t home, the next thing to do was to ask SIRI, he was useless and kept sending me to an American website, so I asked ALEXA, she is a proper independent woman and helped me to locate the catch so I could successfully fill up the little bottle for the screen wash.

The sheer joy was there for the dogs and the amazon man to see!

To be honest I’m not expecting a positive response to this post because feminists hate women being honest about being shite at stuff, but the way I see it is we are all good at something and we don’t have to be good at everything because where’s the fun in that.

I’m all for strong independent women, bringing their power to the table and smashing the shit out of life, but that’s just not me, and to me that’s just fine, I’m happy and so what if I can’t bleed a radiator, or build a bookcase, I’m great at other stuff like making babies ( I have 6 of those) and pretty decent at writing and stuff.  Let’s just embrace those little wins and celebrate what we are good at rather than trying to be good at everything, that to me is being a total independent badass bitch.

Love ya!