Heels & a dress....


Never underestimate what heels & a dress can do you for you. Sure the heels, can make your calves look more sculpted, and give you some height. Sure the dress with the cinched belt can slenderize your stomach, and give you a flirty summer look, but what more can the dress & heels do?
...........................


I am in a black & white dress, with a large black belt all cinched up. My black high heels hurriedly click, click on the way into the gas station. There is a slow, warm breeze that barely moves my hair off my neck. Anything is better than nothing here. Although it's barely 9am, it's already 90 degrees and rapidly growing. 


I purchase the car oil & a Sugar Free Rock Star and go back out to the car to attempt the mechanic work. Men in trucks are filling up, and morning construction workers are enjoying their breakfast tacos on the curb. Out of my perphial vision I see a dude on a motorcycle venture up and start pumping his gas.


The lid for where I need to pour in the oil sure is stuck on tight! "C'mon on lid!" I try again. I cannot even get it to move.


There I stand, in a short dress, black heels, Tiffany's & Co. necklace, hair whipping around, and I am making funny girl grunts as my manicured fingers try delicately to pry the oil lid off. Why the heck did Firestone have to screw this in so tightly?? Probably so I'd have to come back into the station just to have them use their "strong man, muscles" to take it off and, to which they might feel like REAL men. I try a few times, and breathe. I lift my head up and look around. I really didn't want to have to ask. That would really just enhance the damsel in distress image I already had going on. 


Fortunately, not long after  my fourth attempt, out of the blue, Captain America whizzed over, although he was clad in an all-black motorcycle outfit. He was the 2012 version of Captain America. I felt a different air rush behind me and a large round head shadow clouded the engine in front of me and I turned to the right.


Without removing his helmet he muffled out, "I don't mean to be a douche-bag or anything, but here, please let me!" - the Captain's black gloves quickly screwed off the oil lid and he shirked back over to this gas pumping place. I turned around and laughing, said, "thank you so much! It's totally fine! You're not a douche!". Of course Captain American isn't a douche-bag. 


Ready to pour the oil, I made a mental note to not get any oil on the engine.


"Pour slowly, Lily"....I poured slowly. A small portion of oil leaked on to the engine. I wiped it up. 


"More direct, Lily".....I poured more directly. A small portion of oil leaked on the engine. I wiped it up. 


"Smaller stream, Lily". I poured a smaller stream. A small portion of oil leaked on the engine. 


I turned around to grab more paper towels to wipe it up, stomped my high heeled-foot and grunted.


I turned back around to attempt it again.


From behind me, yet another sturdy male voice (less muffled this time), shouted over my direction: "Hey there! Can I help you do that so you don't get your nice little dress all dirty?"


I laughed, but didn't look up and continued pouring the oil in (although I did want help and my fingers were dirty and covered in oil. I didn't want to add more to the picture I was already painting of Miss Damsel in Distress). 


Without knowing what this lovely patron looked like, I replied back "I'm okay, thank you though! Appreciate ya!"


I continued pouring & spilling. 


I looked behind me. And what do you know? This time it really WAS Captain America: he was tall and had a very fit, and chiseled form. His blond hair fall wavy over his forehead, and he had on a very fitted shirt, tucked into pressed kahki pants. His motorcycle was old-fashioned, dark brown and looked like a classic. The sun beat down on his fair skin and he sort of glowed with his offer of assistance. 


He looked at what I was doing and said in a very helpful way "don't worry if you get a few drops on the engine, it'll just smoke a bit, but not get on fire. Just not too much, okay?"


I laughed, "okay, I'm trying!"


He came over and said, "have you checked it yet?"


I quickly closed the oil lid, and maneuvered the dip stick out and cleaned it off, and examined the end. 


He looked surprised and said, "Did you do use to do this?"


I choked out a small laugh, "ha ha, what? Professionally? Um...no...."


"Because you seem to know what you're doing". 


I thought - oh, it's the heels and dress. They're magical. 


"Oh, thank you, but no.". 


"Well you have yourself a great day!" he said and strode back to his motor bike.


"Thank you! You do the same. Thanks again for your help!"


And with that Captain America vanished into the hot morning air and the distressing damsel climbed back into the Black Honda with fading AC and thrashed on through the day.