How Many Girls Does It Take To Change A Lightbulb??

16 Dec

After a week of other drivers flashing me, I finally decided to go and get a new bulb for my headlight. It wasn’t out, but dim, so with the big Essex weekender coming up I thought it best to make sure the car was in tip top condition for ferrying people to Tippleton, or wherever we are going.

I have been putting this off, mainly as I hate Halfords, mechanics, and everything that goes with the place. It’s a testosterone zone, full of antiquated male opinions and grunting. It doesn’t help that the only one near me is in the middle of a retail park which is choc a block at Christmas with people buying last minute things from Homebase (like what, you might ask. Exactly. What could you need last minute in Homebase, before the festivities? Wood? No more nails? Merry Christmas!!) And men making pilgrimages to Dixons to see if they can wipe off their whole Christmas list in one fell swoop. Yet I negotiated the plethora of cars to find myself wandering into the house of doom (which I’m sure isn’t the unique selling point on their adverts).

Everything in there is so confusing. Add this to the fact that the Halfords helpers are always helping other confused people, and you are completely lost. But all I needed was a bulb, so expecting to leave only a fiver lighter, I cornered a man. I asked him directly for what I needed. Light bulb for the dipped headlight. He replied;

“Well which bulb is it sweetheart, the left, the middle or the right if you are looking directly at the headlight?” Fearing he was simple, I replied it was the dipped headlight bulb. Apparently this did not compute. “It’s the dipped bulb you need little lady” he said.

YES I KNOW. I had just said that twice. And Little lady? I didn’t realise that by stepping into Halfords I had stepped back into the fifties too. My mistake (I’d like to add at this point it wasn’t the complimentary sweetheart that your granddad might utter, more the patronising wolf whistle of a builder.)

I bit my tongue and he began my transaction. Ten British pounds. For a sodding bulb. OK. “Do you want it fitted petal?” (Jesus, how many pet names would he call me? it was like lady bingo) It WAS raining, and I WAS cold, so I enquired as to the cost of someone fitting it for me. Ten pounds. Nothankyouverymuch!!

“No thank you” I replied in my politest voice, “I can do it myself”.

He took a long hard look at me, paying specific attention to my nails, and laughed. An actual belly laugh, and said “love, it’s not like topping up the water. It’s quite hard.”

SERIOUSLY??!!

Just because i am a girl, this doesn’t not mean i cannot do something simple like change a light bulb. I have been known to change a tyre and top up oil, and I have never got anyone else to change my light bulbs before, after my unfortunate incident with Jason. About three years ago, having never changed a light bulb before, I asked my male housemate to help me. He whinged for about ten minutes about dirt, had a cursory go and went back to watching the football. I persevered, and did it myself.  I may have nails, and hair, and boots, but I am by no stretch of the imagination a girly girl, and can do simple car mechanics. The cheek!!

I went home, popped the bonnet, changed the light bulb, topped up the water (as this is in my skill set) and checked my handiwork. The whole process took me four minutes. And despite a tiny drop of grease on my palm, my nails remained flawless.

SO THERE.

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