Tonight I did something I’ve never done before.

I let a man who is not a mechanic for a certified auto repair shop dismantle my brakes. Then I drove to Advanced Auto, bought $119 worth of parts and left my car in his driveway to receive a brake job. Which is not dirty, so hush.

Now, the man in question is BaconJ’s father and I have absolute faith in his ability and was utterly regaled all evening by an education in vehicle brake systems–which was at no time patronizing or insulting in any way–he was totally cool about it and seemed genuinely pleased to be doing it.

But he dropped things and forgot what he was doing and broke a lamp and was perpetually distracted and distractable and he made me nervous. And I’ve never, ever let anyone do anything to my car other than replace a battery unless it was at a shop.

Part of that is because I’m a chicken-shit woman who doesn’t know the first thing about engines. Part of it is because even when I know I’m getting ripped off, I at least feel like I have some recourse if things go wrong. Part of it is a sense of ownership obligation–being a car owner means taking responsibility for maintenance and repairs and treating the thing with love and care, etc. etc. Who knows where I got ideas like that. Probably some adult male role model somewhere down the road. And part of it is simply that I have never had access to people in my life who “do” cars.

And this is no rip on my Dad because he’s awesome in lots of ways and good at a ton of things most people are intensely excited about but the man is notoriously anti-handy. And while I taught myself or learned from mentors, everything I know about tools and fixing things around the home–which includes but is not limited to installing windows, hanging dry wall, and repairing small electronics–I never learned shit about cars.

And I know logically that most people who work on cars because they love to do it and find joy in the process, probably take far better care than the folks working in large shops, sweating bullets for a pittance of what the owners are charging for the work. Because that’s how I approach anything I do with a tool in someone else’s home.

I know all of this. I know there is no reason for me to feel anything but thrilled to have such a person available to do something like this for me and he is probably going to save me hundreds of dollars and a ton of stress.

But driving away from my truck tonight very nearly gave me an anxiety attack.

I am both thrilled, relieved and terrified at the same time. And it’s completely absurd but there it is. This is probably reason number 65 that I should be on medication or something.

So there you go. Welcome to my random Monday night meltdown.

Also, Go Bucks!