Helpless

In the event that a woman can’t lift a heavy box, open a tightly screwed container, or, maybe, open a door, it’s pretty standard to call a male to do it. My ex once said that “if you’re so into womens’ rights, do it yourself.” We don’t date anymore. 

A few days ago, I was pulling out of my driveway in my yellow Volkswagen Beetle, and as I was about leave my street, my car sputtered out a few fumes, jiggled a little, and died. I sat there for about a minute before calling my brother, interrupting his game of Nazi Zombies, and telling him to get his ass back home to help me push the car back to the driveway. 

Amount of pride that I had, I was not about to walk myself back home, nor was I going to sit out on the sidewalk in front of all of my neighbors. So, in what I now see was an idiotic decision, I sat in the car, so that if my neighbors drove by, I could just pretend I was waiting on someone… In the middle of the road. 

My brother pushed my car for what must have been about 200 meters. I ran beside the open door, moving the steering wheel and giggling. When we got back, my brother said the same thing, “If you women don’t need a man to do anything, why didn’t you do it yourself.” 

“Because, Nico, I had the opportunity to become a bodybuilder, but I’m not, and you have spent countless hours at the gym. As equal people, you are better suited  to handle this situation. Also, shut up, I’m your sister.” No shame, ladies, no shame.