The Mini Van Soap Box

For the most part I would consider myself a strong, independent woman. That's not to say if a man is around I won't ask for help for the things that I don't want to do, but if one wasn't around, I would try to do the things that need to be done. Kill the spiders, mow the lawn, change ceiling light bulbs, etc.

So this morning finds me in the car, heading off to get the car ready for another road trip. Washed, gas, tire check and oil change. About 5 minutes away from the Jiffy Lube, I start my inner monologue. "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it" "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it".

As I pull up to the bay doors, I can see the twinkle in the mens eyes and can almost hear them say "We've got a live one boys!"

I continue with my mantra..."Oil Change & Tire Rotation...and that's it!"

I hand my keys over, stand proudly and say in a loud authoritative voice "Oil Change & Tire Rotation, Please"

He nods and takes my information and goes in for the kill.

"Yes, Ok Ma'am, I see you are quite responsible about getting your oil changed. That's very good. Now, it seems that you are due for some other services. Your tubes needs to be flushed, you falange gaskets needs to be replaced, your wigglyworms and googleybobs need reworked. Your entire engine needs to be flushed in peroxide and a ritual virgin sacrifice needs to be made in the name of Minivan. How would you like to pay for that?"

I freeze. I know what I should say. Why is it that every time I do this I feel like a 11 year old girl. What the hell IS a falange gasket and does it really need to be replaced? Where am I going to find a virgin sacrifice this early in the morning? What would my dad say if he were here? Should I call my dad? Does he know a virgin I could call?

I stand my ground and just get an oil change & tire rotation. I pay and drive away. But I'm still wondering all the while if my car if going to blow up because I didn't flush my tubes.

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If that wasn't bad enough to make my stomach hurt and make me wonder if someone was going to come take my "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar" member card away...I then go to get my hair cut.

Since I can't drop $180 for a hair cut and color, I'll frequent the local hair butchery...about once a year. I know it's horrible, and I'm not very nice to my hair, but since it's all turning gray anyway, I figure my hair isn't very nice to me.

I hesitate momentarily in the waiting area of the salon, as I think that maybe getting my hair cut and styled by someone who apparently hasn't seen the inside of a shower in three days, might be a bad idea. But I have things that have to get done today, so I proceed.

She wraps me in a plastic robe, pulls out my head band, runs her fingers through my nappy hair and asks what we need done today.

"Just cut off the dead parts, please"

"hmmmm. Ok. Well, I suppose we could shave your head..."

"Yea. Um. I don't think that's a good idea. Why not just cut off as much of the dead without making me look like Telly Savalas?"