Let me set the scene – it’s a cold, dreary, frosty Monday morning. I’m on my way to work in my less than perfect little car, I hear a loud rumbling from one of my front wheels and realise my tyre has gone flat. I’m on a motorway exit with nowhere to pull over, so I just slow down, pull over into the innermost lane, get off the motorway, travel on about quarter of a mile until I get to the first little side road, turn into it, and then have to expertly do a reverse parallel park into the only available gap to get out of the middle of the road.
My tyre needs changing – I’m a girl so it’s not something I would do as standard, especially as I’m smartly dressed for work and everything. But I can’t find the telephone number for my breakdown recovery service, and I’m miles away from the area where my regular garage is, which is the only number I have to hand.
So I decide I’ll just give it a go anyway, I have changed a tyre before, so I do know what to do. So I get out my jack and my wheel nut turner thingy (that’s the technical term lol), and start changing my wheel, which is pretty difficult in a short skirt and high heels. And I get flustered and struggle to get my wheel nuts off and everything.
And whilst I’m doing all of this, which takes 15+ minutes, several people walk past me, many of them guys, many of them clearly “checking me out”, two of them even whistling at me as they walked by. And moving on from just pedestrians, several cars passed as well, one of them driven by a guy who shouted a sexual remark out of the window, but none of these stopped to help either.
So here I am, a damsel in distress, and not one person offered to help. Now I consider myself to be a fairly pretty girl, and I was dressed well in my very high heels, a sexy business suit with a skirt that was well above the knee, and black stockings. You’d have thought someone would have been nice enough to stop and offer assistance, even if their real intention was just to spend ten minutes hitting on me.
To be honest, when I started changing my wheel, I knew I should be able to do it, providing the nuts weren’t on too tight, but I really wasn’t expecting to have to. I wouldn’t have started it if I didn’t think I could finish it, even if I wasn’t expecting to have to finish it. But I was sure a kind gentleman in passing would stop, I’d flutter my eye lashes, flash him a smile, he’d do all the hard work, and maybe I’d treat him to a sneaky glimpse of my stocking tops as I climbed back into my car, just as a little thank you treat to make it worth his while. So to all the guys who did just walk on by – that’s what you missed!!
It makes me wonder, is chivalry dead? Or am I just so indulged in my own self obsession that I’ve become too accustomed to using my femininity to get what I want from men? Who knows, but all I know is that after Monday morning, my faith in the human race was a little depleted!
A question to all you guys – would you help a damsel in distress change their car tyre? Have you ever helped a damsel in distress? And what would be the deciding factor if you walked or drove past somebody as to whether you’d stop and assist or carry on by?
Answers on a postcard to... lol
