You didn't raise a feminist, daddy

So, I might have had a minor crying episode yesterday. But let me tell you why, I'm sure you'll understand.

As much as C pretends to hate me, I'm pretty sure there's deep love in there somewhere, because yesterday he informed me that there was a knot on my front passenger tire. And I'm truly thankful to C, because I never look at my tires...especially not the passenger ones.

So, anyway, I call daddy.

After we determine that my spare isn't a full-size tire, daddy tells me to go get a new one.
But that's all Daddy tells me.

Go get a new tire.

Sure, that sounds easy enough.

So I head into a tire store...a well known one...and this vertically challenged Don Juan wanna be decides I'm his next customer.

Yay.

He tells me that apparently my car needs an uncommon tire size and quotes me a price just shy of my first-born child...even my limited tire knowledge tells me that this isn't a great price. And besides, Don Juan's mini me is kinda freaking me out.

So, I step outside and call daddy and relay all of this information to him.

He makes me repeat myself several times and concludes Don Juan and his cronies are trying to hose the cute girl looking for a tire.

And then daddy starts asking questions I didn't know I needed answers to. Apparently my precious papa forgot that, even though I'm a super cool chick who loves football and hunting and what-not, tires aren't exactly my specialty.

So daddy tells me to leave the mean tire place and he'll try to find me a new one.

Great. Except that he's four hours away from me and according to the tire experts I talked to, having a knot on your tire and continuing to drive is a little hazardous.

So I start calling around and find AJ at another tire store.

AJ is amazing.

AJ doesn't have my tire, but he says he'll order it for me. And when I go see AJ about getting my new tire, he is genuinely concerned for my safety (and super adorable, by the way) and reminds me several times to drive safely and watch the wounded tire until he can get my new one here.

So then I call daddy again. And tell him all this. And he can tell that I'm fussy, but he doesn't understand why.

So I explain it to him.

I'm all alone here. And I need a male person to help me do this boy stuff. I don't know what the mean tire people mean when they say certain things, I don't know the right questions to ask, I don't know the right people to see...I just don't know a damned thing about tires.

And daddy says that this is how he's teaching me. He says I'm an independent career woman and that I'm learning to be self-sufficient and blah blah blah.

And I tell daddy that's not what I want. I don't want to be an independent career woman. I want someone to take care of me. I want someone to go get my damned tire for me when the one I have breaks. I want someone to chase away the mean tire people and take care of all of that boy stuff for me.

"After all," I say, "you didn't raise a feminist, daddy."