I'm far too frilly for man's work.

This evening on the way home from work, I discovered that not one, but both of my headlights were out. I was well aware of the one that took the brunt of the deer a couple of months ago because it now goes out at the drop of a hat. Or rain. Whatever. And yes, I was just too busy over the break doing nothing to get it repaired. It's not that I've been totally neglecting the task of replacing the headlight though...for at least the past week I've been driving around with a replacement bulb in my console. This way in the event that I was pulled over by one of Georgia's best and brightest, I would smile sweetly, show the bulb and promise to get right home and change it. I had every intention of changing it this weekend actually but Saturday it was raining and Sunday it was windy. Neither of which were optimal weather conditions for light mechanic work.

Fact: I do know how to change a headlight. When the reality that I would not be a 22 year-old bride hit me, I determined that it was important that I learn how to do things that might otherwise be classified as "man's work." So I mowed the lawn. Once. Then I learned how to change a headlight. But really this knowledge falls into the same category that knowing where the emergency exits on an airplane are located - it's good information to have, but you don't ever expect to actually use it.

Today though I knew that I had come to end of my getting darker by the minute road and it was inevitable that I change the headlights. I mean, what if I had to rush Cash to the emergency vet in the middle of the night? (yes, I'm making fun of myself so it's ok for you to, too) After a quick visit with Manny, Moe, and Jack, I headed home and rushed upstairs to change clothes and get my trusty tools...

I wish I was making this up, but I'm not that creative. I should also mention that I got my dog too because his new favorite hobby is barking in his crate anytime he hears the slightest noise. The neighbors love me. So picture it: I'm outside in my apartment complex in my sweatshirt from 1998 and ratty sweatpants, dog on his leash around my wrist with the hood of my car up. I was torn between hoping that my cute British neighbor would drive up and offer to change the headlight for me and hoping that my cute British would not drive up and offer to change the headlight for me.
Obviously the latter happened or else my hands would have never encountered the abuse that is evident from this picture. I'll take dishpan hands any day over this business. Oh, for any of you skeptics out there I'm happy to report that my car now has two working headlights. For now anyway.