Needing Manly Assistance

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my Mother after all.”

It’s a scary truth but there it is.  Dad passed away in 1986, and Mom’s lived alone for most of the past 30 years.  I lived with her between (my) husbands and did my share of home maintenance.

As time went along, Mom’s house deteriorated in direct proportion to her finances, but she loved it and wanted to continue living in her suburban neighborhood, and Sis lived in the next town.

When we were young, Mom’s first question about prospective dates was,

“Is he good looking or is he short?”

The Pritchard side of the family is Lilliputian, and height is something you just can’t buy.  At 5’3” I’m one of the tallest.  Mom was undoubtedly thinking of future generations, not realizing my branch dies with me.

As I accumulated wedding bands, her question about prospective husbands became,

“Is he handy?”  Dad had been, and height no longer held value for Mom.  Whenever I dropped into town for a visit, she would have a Honey-Do list, which I or my partner would patiently complete.  They all had their good sides.

Mom’s struggle over the years with plumbers, gardeners, painters, roofers, etc., was something I never thought I’d have to experience.  She is overly-kind and generous with these ‘professionals’ under the false assumption they will do a better job and not gouge the hell out of her.

Poor dear; she never learned.  But I did…from her.

All growed up and on my own, with achy hands and limited funds, I find that every time a man comes into view I’m awkward and stilting because I’m figuring how to sweet-talk him into helping with some task.

Therefore, I did it again: called the radio station, which this morning is soliciting examples of ‘Gentlemanly’ behavior which should never go out of style.  Never carry cheap ballpoint pens; ask a woman’s age; order food first; own a cat. They were all pretty good, and I was pleasantly surprised when one man reminded Gentlemen to walk on the curb side, to deflect any splashes.

“A Gentleman should never leave a woman stranded with an automobile; especially in a gas station."  No, that never happened to me.

After I got off the phone I considered the state of the world, and the flip side of my comment is it's not particularly the safest scenario.  The announcers thought that, too, since they played the car part but not ‘in the gas station’, adding they wouldn’t help a stranger because nowadays there are cell phones and compact weapons.  I’m still in the Dark Ages, but isn’t that sad?  For both reasons?

I couldn’t explain I’m alone and broke, and if I have to call a MALE, I’m yanking him away from his couch-and-potato, or whatever pastime he’s engaged in, to help someone who’s not even related.  Must a friend drive 15 miles to tell me my oil pressure's fine, since no one will stop ‘cause they’re worried I’ll mace 'em?  Aren’t I supposed to be worried about them?

Rethinking my view while editing, I'm guessing most readers will just shake their heads at my naiveté, but that's fine.  Takes all kinds, so I'll stop for you if I can, at least to make sure someone's coming.

Last fall, preparing to drive back home to Oregon, my ‘Jersey girlfriend worried I’d break down by Kansas.

“What’ll you do without a man?”

Deal with whatever when it happens.  Sometimes it's handy to be short.  So I'll tip my bonnet to all you old-fashioned Gentlemen who help helpless Ladies with their automobiles.  I promise I’ll smile.