I dodged the bullet. I finally got in and bought a replacement headlight bulb. I’ve only been driving my p’diddle (is that even a word?) around for the last month, cringing whenever I saw a police car.
I’d actually attempted to replace it last week, but I could not figure out the damn charts for what size bulb I needed. I have a business degree, not one in scientific obscurity. I might as well have been trying to decypher the Davinci Code.
“Why don’t you go ask someone at the auto parts counter?”
Yup, I could have sucked it up and asked. Then I looked over at the counter and saw that it was a teenage girl working there. Nope! I’d rather hold a flashlight out the window as I drove, than go ask her.
“But maybe she had a father who was a mechanic, or 3 older brothers who taught her all about cars” someone said to me.
You don’t understand. I wasn’t going to ask her because I was afraid she didn’t know the answer… I wasn’t going to ask her because I was afraid she DID know the answer!
So I left.
But yesterday a much older gentleman was working there and I could easily stow my pride and ask him.
If only physically replacing it was that easy.