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Sep. 16th, 2006 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
constanceI went over to my parents' house this afternoon after work because my mother had made chicken piccata and wanted to give the leftovers to me (my father not being the sort to eat leftovers uncomplainingly). I told them about The Toilet Fiasco:
I wasn't being all assertive and feminist when I asked why not (it rarely does much good to be all assertive and feminist with my father). I just didn't see why, after looking at how everything was put together while I was cleaning up this morning, doing the job myself was likely to be a job I couldn't do. It seemed simple enough to me.
And it was, too. Tonight I came home and did exactly what I told my father I was going to do, and now I have a working toilet again, and my father doesn't have to come over, and I don't have to listen to him bitch about having to do everything for me, and everybody wins.
Everybody seems to think that it's such a big deal, though -- not just my father. I wonder if it really is a big deal and I only succeeded because I didn't know enough to be intimidated, or if the world just thinks I am less capable than I really am. I may never learn the answer to this question, and I guess in the meantime I will continue to fumble and crash my way through all aspects of life, occasionally able to clean up the messes I make, good and proper.
:::
The chicken piccata, by the way, was excellent.
Dad (annoyed): So I guess I know what I'll be doing tomorrow.
Me: If you mean coming over to my house to put in a new toilet tank, you don't have to. I'll pick up the tank on the way home tonight and do it myself.
Dad: You can't do it yourself!
Me: Why not?
Mom: Yeah, why not?
I wasn't being all assertive and feminist when I asked why not (it rarely does much good to be all assertive and feminist with my father). I just didn't see why, after looking at how everything was put together while I was cleaning up this morning, doing the job myself was likely to be a job I couldn't do. It seemed simple enough to me.
And it was, too. Tonight I came home and did exactly what I told my father I was going to do, and now I have a working toilet again, and my father doesn't have to come over, and I don't have to listen to him bitch about having to do everything for me, and everybody wins.
Everybody seems to think that it's such a big deal, though -- not just my father. I wonder if it really is a big deal and I only succeeded because I didn't know enough to be intimidated, or if the world just thinks I am less capable than I really am. I may never learn the answer to this question, and I guess in the meantime I will continue to fumble and crash my way through all aspects of life, occasionally able to clean up the messes I make, good and proper.
:::
The chicken piccata, by the way, was excellent.
