Hey, there, Mr. Gas Station Guy (I believe your name tag actually said “John”)
THANK YOU for noticing how I leaped — gazelle-like — out of my car this morning to wash and squeegee my own windows.
See, I’m used to guys wanting to be rewarded for doing “women’s work,” such as, oh say, vacuuming the popcorn off the couch. And who got the popcorn on the couch? Well, not me. Or when they change the baby’s worst diaper in recent history and tell every single person about it for the rest of the day. “Oh, man, you shoulda seen that thing. Like a nuclear explosion, with carrot chunks!”
And, let”s face it, washing one’s car windows while the car is filling up is non-genderized. But in my previous life, that man I loved always did it, mostly because he was such a chatter. Any time he could hang out at a gas station and yak it up was a good day.
So anyway, John, when you said “You’re pretty good at that!” as I squeegeed, flipping the water off the rubber between swipes, I thought, “Hello there, ‘man’ compliment! I’ve missed you.”
And now I am drinking hot coffee from my fav deli (the coconut scone is long gone) and thinking, “This could be a good day.”