I Am Woman, Hear Me Bake

Dear Feminists,

I am not good at selling cars. I am not good at haggling with men who pretend to know why my car is worth less than what I am asking. I cannot pretend to know that my car is worth what I am asking. Because, maybe, it's not worth $2100 and maybe there is something wrong with the transmission. But I do not know these things. All I know is that it was a good car and it transported me for several years to where I needed to be. That's all I care about. So, until I meet Muninda tonight at 7 pm in order that he may look at my car, in order that I might be able to sell it to him, for the next 5 hours I will have mini anxiety attacks, a constant string of them. I do not want to sell my car. I am not good at it. I would rather bake cookies for the man who helps me sell my car.

Three weeks ago when I wrecked my car I did not know how to talk to the mechanic. I did not want to talk to the mechanic. So I had my father talk to the mechanic. Not that my father knows much more about cars, but it felt right. To have him talk to the mechanic. I would rather get my father a glass of tea while he talks to the mechanic.

Dear Feminists, I must admit, there are things that I am just not cut out for. I'd rather leave it to the men.

Submissively Yours,

Jenn