I am Man, Hear me Fix Stuff

My neighbor’s garage door broke this afternoon so her car was trapped in the garage and, thus, she was trapped for the weekend becauses there is no safe public transport and this town is not exactly walkable.
She called me to get the number of someone to come fix it and I told her that I’d take a look at it as she was unlikely to get anybody to show up yet this weekend. So I pick up my toolbox and head across the compound to see what's up. Long story short, I was able to fix it.
Now, having grown up as the fifth of five boys, I was the one who held the light and ran for tools the entire time I was growing up. I was not considered mechanically inclined. To be fair, two of my four brothers were actual mechanics on heavy equipment in the military and all four of them and my Dad could each rebuild a tractor engine or tell you off the top of their heads what tolerance the cutting head of a combine needs to be set at for any given grain.

So this was nice. I have not felt so manly in a long time. Not only was there the satisfaction of the completion of a tactile and finite job, there was also the oooing and ahhing of an appreciative audience. I had shown up with my toolbox and saved the day for someone who had absolutely no idea of how I did it.

We won’t tell her about the incident a couple months ago where I took my car in for engine trouble only to find out that the problem was I hadn’t changed the air filter since I bought the car and it was completely plugged.