The Kindness of Strangers

As I was driving to work on Easter Sunday, a warning light came on my dashboard. 

It looked like (!) and it scared the shit out of me. 

I had all of those crazy spinning thoughts that I get; I considered not going into work; I was convinced my engine was going to blow up. I white-knuckled it all the way to work. In the parking lot I flipped through the  previously- untouched owner's manual in my glove box, but I couldn't find an explanation. I ended up Googling it. 

Tire pressure. I felt like a complete asshole for freaking out.

And then I realized that I had no earthly idea how to put air into my tires. And then I felt like an asshole again. 

This was the kind of thing my father would have once done for me. Or, after that, my brother. The nearby tire store was closed for the holiday. None of my guy friends who would've helped with this were at work. 

I ended up telling the story of freaking out about the light that morning to my co-workers and sheepishly admitted that I had no idea what to do. They laughed at me and said "You grew up fighting and you can't even put air in your tires?". Brawling with my brother doesn't equal life-skills. A mean right hook doesn't make a girl into a tomboy.  

After work one of my female co-workers followed me to the gas station and very patiently taught me to put air in my tires. She was so sweet about it, teasing and helpful, but it made me feel so useless.  

My former boss used to say "They don't even know how much they don't know" or something to that effect.

I hate feeling like that. 

I hate that I don't have life-skills. I hate that I have no idea where to start in acquiring them. I hate that every time I feel like I'm starting to get it together something slaps me down again.