Yesterday I drove over a screw while driving in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It was about 89 degrees, 110 % humidity, my wife and son were both with me and both have a cold, it was my son's nap time, it was my nap time, and thunderstorms were approaching. To top it all off, neither my wife or I had our cellphones, we don't have AAA, and I'd never changed a tire.
After some quick walking around looking for either a phone number, a garage, or a tip on where to go I finally sent Wifey home with The Little Man via the "F" train. I then walked around wondering how I would deal with going into the local "Pep Boys" garage and saying, "I just got a flat, and I'm too scared to fix it." As the saying goes: time to put up or shut up.
I went back to the car and fixed the flat. I got rained on, sweaty like a railroad worker, hurt my back, ate an overpriced sandwich from the Barnes and Noble entrenched Starbucks, but in the end: I did it.
That is the day I became a man.
Congratulations! When you got home did you beat on your chest and demand your wife make you a pie? That's what I would have done.
Actually, no. I got home, showed my wife my broken nails and then cried for an hour.