What my girlfriends don’t know about me is that…..I am part guy. No I am not gay nor do I have any male body parts, but in my head that is where my male side lives. Some girls are a girl’s girl and some are a guy’s girl. What is the difference? Let me explain.
I was the first born child and I was a girl, now we all know that for the most part all men wish for a son. I am sure that my Dad was no exception. My Dad thought that my sister and I were boys despite the fact that we had a younger brother, so he raised us all the same, what our brother learned we learned.
In my earliest memories my Mom would read us stories before bedtime about Cinderella, my Dad on the other hand would read us instruction manuals on how to put together the swing set.
Mom was all beauty pageants, dresses, lipstick and high heel shoes. Dad by contrast was study hard, get good grades and know how to use a Phillips head. For you girlie girls out there, a Phillips head is a screwdriver, not some guy named Phillip who’s head…well you get the idea.
Anyway by the ripe old age of 8 years old we knew how to cook a gourmet meal and rebuild a carburetor on a lawn mower, and you thought your childhood was confusing? We knew that to tighten a screw you turned it to the right and to loosen it you turned it to the left. How did we know this? Easy, Righty tightie…Lefty loosie, it was Daddy’s version of a nursery rhyme.
By ten my sister and I could change a tire on a car and by twelve change the oil in the car but still my Mom persisted. As she would prepare us for yet another beauty pageant, my Dad would always say. “I really don’t know why you bother being in these things cause you know you are ugly like me” Well yep, we looked just like him. I personally didn’t think he looked half bad but apparently we did not stand a snowballs chance of winning a beauty pageant. So while on stage at the beauty pageant dressed in a designer gown and high heels I would float graciously toward the x mark on the floor, this mark was the queue to do your three quarter turns. As I turned the voice in my head kept whispering “righty tightie, leftly loosie”
For my twelfth birthday my Dad gave me a beautiful 1967 convertible corvair, complete with oxidized purple paint and a top that hadn’t worked in years. But this was my first love and I thought that she was beautiful. I was too young to drive on the highway but born and raised in the country you learn to drive early on two trail dirt back- roads. I also learned pretty quickly that in a convertible you must never slow down on a dirt road or the dust bowl would eat you, as the car was enveloped with dust all you could see was dust and all you could taste was dust….For days.
Once back in school word quickly spread that I had gotten a car. I was a hero to all of the boys, they all gathered around to hear about the engine size and if I had topped her out yet. (That meant if I had driven at the maximum speed)
High school proved to be particular trying. My friends all had boyfriends and were dating, but me I would have a crush on a guy and finally we would start talking then BAM…as soon as the conversation turned to cars or motorcycles, there went my chance for romance. Within five minutes the guy would completely forget that I was a girl, know matter how sexy I tried to look; I lost him as soon as he started talking about his car and I asked what size the engine was..
Because of my relationship with the guys I lost a few girlfriends along the way, but dad-burn-it they didn’t know what a 302 was (in case you don’t it is a engine) they had no clue how much air pressure to put in your car tires or did not know the difference between a PTO and PSI. and Heaven forbid they learn that I could actually back a trailer!
Today not much has changed. I am still happiest with a crowbar in one hand and a paint brush in the other, while holding a Philip’s head between my teeth. (no not the guy) To look at me I am all prissy girlie girl, if you didn’t know me and saw me on the street your opinion would probably be that I am not capable of lifting a finger, that I shop at Saks and the only thing that I know about nails is that they need a manicure. I only know this because my closest friends laugh that this was their thoughts prior to knowing me…pssst this is a prime example of “Don’t judge a book by its cover”.
Today I still like to talk to the guys about cars, motorcycles and the Dow Jones industrial average. My favorite hangout is Saks, followed closely by Lowes and Home Depot. Thanks to wonderful parenting I am equally happy in both places. I am a girl on the outside with a guy in my head, in other words I am a guys girl.
Recently I was out with girlfriends looking for a ball gown, as I swung open the dressing room door my purse spills. One of my girlfriends reaches down, picks up my Phillips head and says with a grin, “What is this?” “Whoops” I say as I bend down to help. As I catch my reflection in the mirror I smile….Yep ugly just like my Daddy. Righty tightie…