Last week my car battery died, and I decided that it’s ok to need a man in your life.

I promise the rest of this post will be less dramatic, but not by a lot.

It was a Thursday night and R and I were on our way back from Thousand Oaks, California where we’d gone to see my good friend Paul in his performance with the touring company of A Chorus Line. I was !!!!!! about it. R was !!!!! about my being !!!! about it. How R actually felt about it would and will remain a total mystery. This is one of R’s finest and most appreciated qualities.

There are a lot of details that are significant about this part of the story, but I’ll spare you most of them. Just know that Thousand Oaks, California is 30-some-odd miles from L.A. and 50-some-odd miles from Santa Monica, where both R and I were prior to departing for the show. It took 1.75 hours to travel those 50-some-odd miles. We went to dinner before the show at a restaurant called Exotic Thai where we ate one Chinese and two Japanese dishes. After the show we took my friend Paul for a celebratory drink at the one venue open past 10pm – a BJ’s. BJ’s has an incredible dessert called the Pizookie, which is a hot cookie topped with ice cream. R had a really bad cold. And, upon arriving home to LA at 12:30am, my car battery was dead.

There are a lot of details that are significant to my car battery being dead, but I’ll spare you all of them because I have absolutely no idea how it happened, when it happened, or if it’s going to happen again. Just know that car issues of any kind are among my greatest fears and frustrations. I’ve never had my own car, I’ve never wanted my own car, and most days I contemplate abandoning the one I have and spending the monthly lease fee plus insurance and gas on a personal driver. Unfortunately I’ve looked into the costs for that sort of thing and they’re slightly higher than the lease on 2010 Jetta, despite the leather interior and sun roof. Same with cabs. Total injustice.

Needless to say I am beside myself. Concerned. Confused. Tired. Annoyed. Pizookie-stuffed. Convinced that my street is a danger-ridden place, that my car is a total lemon, and that I’ve already caught R’s cold.

There are many difficult life scenarios in which I perform well to very well. I’m incredibly comforting at a funeral. I know how to mediate a group of sisters who can’t remember what they’re fighting about. If you’re a sexually confused man looking to decide whether you belong in or out of the closet, I’m your girl (and it’s out). But throw me into a scenario in which I must perform a technical task related to heavy machinery for which I am financially responsible and I will crumble. Put that task on a dark street at a late hour with a man who just wants to help, and I will add a layer of stubborn anger to that crumble that would scare a AAA man away.

“What’s the problem?” R kept saying, “I’m here. I have jumper cables. I know what to do with them. No one’s going to bother us. I’m going to teach you how to jump the car and charge the battery so you won’t have any problems in the morning. It’ll take 15 minutes, tops.”

He does not yet know that no amount of logic would work in this situation.

See, in this scenario, in my mind, independent feminist is waging war against girl who’s learning to be in a relationship. In my mind I should know how to jump a car, and I should have a AAA card in case I don’t. In my mind I’m now a needy, typical keep-you-up-’til-1AM-making-your-bad-cold-worse girlfriend who’s as helpless as they come. (I warned you about the level of drama…).

No this doesn’t make sense, and I know that. There are plenty of men out there who wouldn’t know what the hell to do, but the man I’m standing with does and he’s saying things like, “I so glad I’m here so I can teach you how to do this,” and, “If I wasn’t here I would expect you to call me to come over here and help you.” I’m making weird whining noises and a face that says both “thank you” and “there goes my independence” (jaw structure is similar to “pathetic”).

We jumped the car. We got in and drove together around the block for five minute so my battery would re-charge. We re-parked the car in a safe spot with ample room in front and back in case (as I suspected) a parallel parker bumped it and the alarm went off all day draining the battery (R: “Good. That’s a great theory. See! You know what could have happened. You’re great at this!”). And then I made R quiz me on how to do the whole thing all over again so I could do it on my own.

I cannot explain why taking kind and patient help with something I know nothing about (and for valid reason) makes me feel like less of a woman slash person. Maybe it’s because I feel most natural being the more helpful and able party in a party of two? Because my self-confidence is rooted in self-preservation? Maybe it’s because my mind still exists in single girl mode? Maybe it’s because I’m inclined to want what each person gives in a relationship to be totally equal so that it’s really more like the best high school group project you ever worked on?

Or maybe it’s because in that moment I realized that I looooved having a guy around to make it all better, and that made me feel part guilty, part nervous and totally unlike myself… And maybe that was what felt somewhat scary and unnatural for me…

Whatever it was – the source of my ridiculous neurosis – I got over it. I took the help, I liked the help, and I didn’t do what I was inclined to do which was buy R some over-the-top “thank you” gift for providing the help.

…and then dying though I was to buy my very own jumper cables to keep in my own car to fix my own messes, I didn’t.

Instead I just haven’t given R his back. Baby steps.