The trouble with having your birthday in the middle of winter is the weather. It's cold and wet and windy. It seems to me that the only time it doesn't rain is when it's waiting for me to venture outside. As soon as I do all that saved up rain comes pelting down. I hate winter.
To make it worse, my father bought me a neat little coupe for my eighteenth birthday. A sweet little car I call Marie. I hate driving in the rain and I could only use my sweet Marie when I had no choice. Accordingly, I was delighted when spring came around, especially as the sun came with it, drying out our drenched countryside.
On the first fine Saturday I took my little car out for a drive. The sun was out in a cloudless sky and the forecast said a nice hot day. I'd dressed accordingly, short shorts and a loose top, carrying a warm top just in case. Windows down, radio on, I headed for the hills.
I wasn't going anywhere in particular, just driving for the sake of driving. I'd find nice open roads and zip down them, having fun. Mind you, I took care to avoid unmade roads. No telling what might happen along those things. A small car like mine could drive into a hidden pothole and sink out of sight. No thank you, nicely made roads suited me fine.
So there I was, zipping along this road in the middle of nowhere when I came around a corner and there was something lying on the road. There was no way on earth I was going to miss whatever it was, although I did try, jinking across the road to the far side. (Safe enough. There was no other traffic.) It didn't help. I didn't quite get clear, with my rear wheel bouncing hard off whatever it was.
It was pretty plain to me that something had gone wrong with my Marie so I pulled over to assess the damage. My passenger side rear tyre was as flat as a pancake. A simple glance told me I needed a new tyre. Whatever I had hit had ripped a hole in the tyre sidewall. The stupid thing wouldn't hold bricks, let alone air.
Irritated I strolled back to see what I'd hit. There was this chunk of rock lying on the road. A ragged piece of granite it looked like. No wonder it had ripped out my tyre. Being a good citizen I moved it to the side of the road. Well, I would have if I could have moved the stupid thing. It weighed a ton.
I considered my situation. I had a flat tyre and I wasn't going to change it. I'm a girl. I don't change tyres. That's what men are for. Obviously I needed to call a man to come and attend to the problem. My other, more immediate problem was that stupid chunk of rock. Anyone else who came around the corner fast might lose control, either from hitting it or from taking evasive action, and there was me and my car a sitting duck for an unguided missile.
My father has always been very safety conscious and he had put a couple of triangle flashers in my boot, just in case. This seemed to be such a case, so I grabbed one and went down to the corner and placed one in the middle of the road. This should slow down anyone coming past.
My immediate safety secured I checked my GPS to see exactly where I was and rang my father. He was not impressed.
"You're a big girl now," he pointed out. "Can't you change the wheel?"
"I tried, daddy," I cajoled, "but I can't loosen the nuts. They seem to be welded on. I just can't budge them."
My father muttered something under his breath and then told me he'd come out. He also pointed out that it would be at least an hour before he got there as he had to finish what he was doing before he could leave.
I settled down to wait. With a bit of luck someone else would come along and offer to change the tyre for me. Country people are supposed to be neighbourly and helpful.
Neighbourly and helpful they might be, but they were also few on the ground. Fifteen minutes passed but no cars did. Then a car finally came along. He came slowly around the corner, thanks to my emergency triangle, then accelerated, waving to me as he passed, still accelerating. Obviously someone from the city and not a helpful local.
It was another fifteen minute before another car came. This guy was more the good citizen type. He came slowly around the corner and stopped. Got out of his car and dragged that chunk of rock off the road. I hopped out of my car, waiting for him to approach and offer assistance. That rotten swine walked back to the corner, grabbed the triangle, came back to his car, hopped in and drove off, taking my triangle with him, leaving me staring after him, mouth open in surprise.
It was only a minute later that another car came around the corner and this one actually pulled up behind me and stopped. This guy got out and he was the yokel's yokel. Really. He had blue denim bib overalls, a blue t-shirt, and clodhopper boots.
He strolled over to my car, looking at the tyre. I got out and regarded him. He looked back at me.
"Bob's the name. You got a flat tyre," he said.
"Ah, I'm Janice. Yes, I know," I admitted.
"Why haven't you changed it?"
I didn't even bother with the story of not being able to loosen the wheel nuts. I just gave him a look and said, "I'm a girl. I do girl stuff. I don't change tyres."
He nodded slowly as though this made perfect sense. Well, it did to me, even if some men seem to have trouble accepting it.
"Gotcha," he said. "I guess you want me to change your wheel."
"I would be very grateful if you did," I admitted. "My father is going to come out and help me but he won't be here for at least another half hour."
"Well, it'll only take me a few minutes to change it. Then you can call your dad and tell him all's fine. Pop her for me and I'll get out your stuff," he said, slapping the car lightly.
I did as I was told and he very efficiently extracted my tools and my spare wheel. While he changed it I called my father and told him he needn't worry as a helpful local was changing the wheel for me. Then I stood and watched as Bob worked. It was literally only a few minutes and the old wheel was off, the new one on, and the old wheel was being stored away.
"That was very efficient," I told him. "Thank you so much."
"My pleasure," he said. "Now it's your turn."
"Excuse me?"
"Your turn. To do girl stuff," he clarified, and without any more preamble than that he reached over, flicked open the button on my shorts and yanked them down.
My jaw just dropped. How could he do that? And outside, by the side of the road, at that. It would have been bad enough in private but you can't call a public highway private.
