There are many things I think I know how to do, although I've never had to do them.
Most of these things are car related, like changing a tire or jump starting a dead battery. I've also never gardened, but I think I could plant some flowers if necessary. No promises on keeping them alive.
I'm good for some things. Mostly picking out clothing, shoes and good music. But I also can keep a house immaculate. I get it honest. Growing up, my family referred to my dad as "Mr. Clean," and it wasn't because he wore a giant, gold hoop earring.
I can cook too. Chicken Marsala, cheese tortellini with homemade alfredo sauce ... and I'm not even Italian.
But back to the things I can't do ... which I learned a lot about this week when my car battery died. I was supposed to go to my friend's house for dinner. I was on the phone with Laura, who I never call Laura so from here on I'll refer to her as LJ, to tell her I was leaving my house. I cranked my car and instead of the rumble of a strong engine, it just sort of puttered and died.
"Crap, my battery just died. So, you want to come over here for dinner?," I told LJ.
"Do you have jumper cables?," she asked.
"Yeah, never been used, but I'm sure we can figure it out."
"OK, on the way."
While I waited on LJ, I pulled my lifesaving roadside assistance bag out of the way back. I unwrapped my jumper cables and sat them on the hood of the car. Once LJ arrived, the comedy unfolded. We attached the battery to her Jeep, no problem, but under my hood was a mystery.
For some strange reason every part has a cover. Yes, a cover. As if I really care if the engine stuff is decorative. Unlike a sofa slip cover, this seems pointless to me. No one is going to look under my hood and call my engine tacky or outdated. Anyway, after about 10 minutes of uncovering stuff to find fuses and everything else, we uncover the battery and hook up the cables.
"Do we crank it now?," LJ asked.
"Umm ... yeah, I think so."
"OK. I'm going to stand back in case you are wrong."
I turned the key and nothing exploded or sparked. And as simple as this is to many people, it was miraculous to us. Our rookie at bat was a home run.
The following day, while I was waiting for what felt like hours to have my battery changed, LJ sent a text my way.
"I'm still so damn proud that we were able to jump the car off without a burn injury to either of us."
I agree. I'm scratching "jump starting a car" off my list of things I can't do.