Dressing Like a Lady, Talking Like a Man, Working Like a Dog & Breakneck Mowing With a Chihuahua

Me and Mable Misdemeanor (our Chihuahua) were on the riding lawn mower today going at a break neck pace to beat the rain when into my head flew

that song from that commercial out of the late 70’s…

You know, the one where that perfectly coiffed woman is wearing different outfits depending on what part of the song she is dancing around to:

I can bring home the bac-oooooooon…

• Mod business suit which, of course, included ginormous lapels and a polyester belt since that was, unfortunately, part of the fashion extravaganza of the late 70’s

Fry it up in a paaaaaaaaaaaan…

• Cute little floral diddy with an apron and high heeled pumps

And nevernevernever let you for-GIT you’re a maaaaaaaaaaan…

• Some white diddy that suggested, ‘bedroom anyone?’

and then, as she spun around and wiggled and a few other flighty things, she sang,

‘Cause I’m a wooooooman!  Enjoli!

And it was all about some perfume called ‘Enjoli’ that, should you choose to wear it, would turn you into a money making, bacon frying, bedroom whoring machine!

Seriously!

Yesterday I was calling around looking for a replacement for one of the front tires of our riding lawn mower because it was hopelessly, unfixably flat.

I learned years ago that should I need to ‘call around’ to find a replacement for something about which I know very little it is important to first go to the item needing replaced with pen and paper in hand to record every single number, letter, dash, dot and design on that item so I can actually get a little help.

So, I said to the tire guy at the hardware place,

I’m looking for a 16 by 6 point zero zero dash 6 N N tire for our riding lawn mower.

And he said,

Do you need to four ply or two ply?  And I’ll also need to know if you need the turf or smooth tread.

I thought,

It didn’t have all that on the tire.

And I said,

Let me get my husband.

Ben told me what to tell the tire guy and then the tire guy said,

Hold on, lemme look,

and then came back and said,

I’ve got a 4 ply turf tread but only in a 15 by 6.

I said,

That’s exactly what I need.

He said,

But you said you needed a 16 by 6.

I said,

Yeah, well, I’m a just a girl lookin’ for a tire.

He said,

If you’re gonna play with big boy toys you better know what you’re talking about.

I thought,

When exactly did riding lawn mowers become categorized as big boy toys?

And said,

I’m not the kind of girl who talks to men I don’t know about big boy toys.

The first job I ever had with a full blown corporate entity was with a company that produced and sold medical computer software.  And I was lucky enough to meet a woman who was something like 15 years older than me and had been with the company at its inception and for some reason decided to take me under her wing and tell me lots of things that helped prevent me from having a nervous breakdown on a daily basis.

To be perfectly honest, the only thing I remember out of all she shared with me is,

The way to make it around here is to

• dress like a lady
• talk like a man, and
• work like a dog.

Which I did.

And ended up leaving when the the EEOC (Equal Employment Opportunity Commission) came bursting through the doors and ended up discovering that dressing like a lady, talking like a man and working like a dog wasn’t doing much to get women hired or promoted around that place.

Which I already knew but was apparently so young and niave that only some distant and rarely used brain cell considered being the highest producing marketing employee in that place for 12 consecutive quarters and the only members of the marketing team being promoted being male in a way that sounded something like,

Huh?  What?  OK.

And now I’m sitting here thinking,

What a difference a few decades makes,

when it comes to my attitude toward things like that.

Because, even though I went through a rather long period of acting toward men I personally categorized as chauvinist in a way that regularly caused me to be called an

Emasculating bitch,

I now have no desire to get into much of anything with some old guy behind the tire counter at the local hardware store when he tells me I should be more informed about the equipment needed to properly operate a big boy toy…

aka:  A riding lawn mower that has four tires that are capable of holding air.

And I suppose I could have gone over to the hardware store,

• dressed like a lady but
• talking to him like a man and
• worked him over like a dog but,
• I’m busy

trying to speed around my yard on our riding lawn mower with our Chihuahua tucked under one arm and my hand on the wheel and wondering if I’m going to beat the rain.

And I’m also sitting here wondering what’s up with me having songs from late 1970’s TV commercials popping into my head lately. 

Just the other day I was driving along one of the country highways and that old,

Brill Cream…a little dab’ll do ya!

song came into my head and has had me slightly disturbed ever since because I think it’s such a catchy little tune but think every single old guy in my family who wore that stuff is dead.