I felt sexy yesterday morning. Freshly showered, cute in a black summer dress perfectly accompanied by strapy black sandals, I stopped at the nearby gas station. It was due to be a humid day and Jiffylube had warned me the week prior my car was low on coolant. Here I was at 7:30 in the morning dressed (for me on a week day) to the nines (not to get all Seinfeld but what does that expression mean anyway?), flipping open the hood and pouring blue liquid into a dirty plastic tube. I don’t know, or care, if anyone was watching me, but at that moment I felt sexy. Confidant that I was the kind of the woman who could dress like she meant business yet not caring that she may get hands dirty fulfilling a task stereotypically meant for a man. There is an odd sense of power knowing I could handle these silly little life tasks alone. A sense that no matter happens in life, I can feel sexy doing a man’s work-solo.