Its a Man's World After All!!

I would say that I am an independent, headstrong woman and I am all for women's lib and all that new age crap but unfortunately some things just don't change. Men still leave the toilet seat up and refuse to ask for directions. The remote? What's that, oh that thing that men refuse to share and Saturdays will forever be sport's days. Just like women will always take hours to decide on an outfit, have far too many pairs of shoes and still like to cuddle with teddies. Those things just don't change, especially the fact that women just don't know things about cars.

You would think that considering my father was in the motor industry for 30 years I would know a thing or two about cars. WRONG! I know that I would love to drive a Porsche or Ferrari one day but don't tell me to look under the bonnet and locate the thermostat or the carburetor. They are more commonly referred to in female language as the whatsa macallit and the thingy magiggy. Please a carburetor, you may as well ask me how far the sun is from the earth or what the name of those plastic things on the end of shoelaces are called (I have been told on a number of occasions).

So there I was yesterday on my way to see a client and I notice that my temperature whatsa macallit is on 0 degress. Now I am no self proclaimed mechanic but I know when it is over 30 degrees outside and your temperature thingy is saying zero there is a problem. I am almost there so I think right lets just get off the main road and to the client (which I now am late for by the way, thanks to a robot being out on William Nicol) and we will address the problem there, ie: phone dad! Now I am sitting at the robot on William Nicol about to turn into Fourways Crossing and my car cuts out. Picture the scene, me in my little car, broken down on William Nicol at 3:30 in the afternoon (start of peak hour traffic, yes that's early but when have you ever not seen traffic on William Nicol?), steam coming out my bonnet and the newspaper guy canning himself at me. Not chuffed is the nicest way to put that. NOW all the lights are flashing at me!! That I understand, flashing lights = problem, not strange readings on temperature thingys. So there I sat, people and TAXIS (have I mentioned that I hate them) hooting at me. After about 10 minutes I tried to start it again and it started. Not arguing whether it was a clever idea or not, I drove it into Fourways Crossing now 40 mins late to see my client. Screeching noises and steam vacating the bonnet marked my not so quiet and very late arrival. The client, ever the gay stereotype, clearly can not help me. So I drop the stuff off and get to the nearest petrol station. Realise how literal BP: we like to keep you moving actually is now.

Now as mentioned earlier my father was in the motor industry for the majority of his life so I obviously gave him a panicked call. But the problem is now he isn't in the industry anymore, he is now a farmer so he was in the vineyards somewhere picking his grapes for harvest. Fat load of good the wine is doing for me now! Anyway eventually get hold of him (thanks mom for missioning off to find him in his grapes) and he tells me that pouring water into a hot car is a big big no no. Oh forgot to mention that there was ZERO water in my car and it had in fact overheated. As I said before what do I know about cars. Apparently I was lucky that I didn't blow the head gasket, once again the whatawhaty? OK mild exaggeration, I do actually know that's bad but don't ask me to locate it for you.

Solution: find the nearest General Motors dealer so they can have a look for you because just because its hot and you sat in traffic doesn't mean that there should be no water, said in VERY sarcastic annoyed tone by father. So off I mosey to Williams Hunt Fourways where I think I met possibly the most decent, obliging human being every made. He sorted my problem out for me, apparently the thermostat valve thing wasn't working and the thermostat housing thingy was loose too. In other words I can now drive the car because the problem is sorted. Time now being 6:40. Happy champer is once again a polite sarcastic description of my annoyed mood.

But it did not stop there, because my father was in the industry and he so happened to own a dealership I now need to take it there because they need to check it. Did I mention that I live in Parktown, work in Sandton and the dealership is in Edenvale? So yes mission off to the Vale this morning, have to leave the baby there over night and get given a courtesy car with COURTESY CAR written all over it (yes I do realise that that is the pot calling the kettle black from someone who has their name on their number plate) and once again mission off back there to pick it up tomorrow. A good thing though, was able to sneak in a cup of coffee with her cuteness while I was that side of the world. Looking ever so cute today too by the way!

At the end of the day, there is no major damage done but one thing is for damn sure, it is a man's world after all when it comes to cars and I am not afraid to admit defeat and admit that one out loud.

I hope that you had a PMS/CBS free day now

Sweet Pea

P.S. On a completely separate note I did get up early yesterday morning and go to gym and it was hormonal gorilla free!!!!!