I forgot to mention that I changed my headlight on Saturday afternoon, on my own, in the pouring rain, in the parking lot of the auto parts store.
"Go somewhere out of the rain!" some young guy yelled at me, as he left the store.
Staying warm and dry is for sissies, obviously. (Ha! I am dying in these clouds and rain. If staying warm and dry is for sissies, I am the person you see in the encyclopedia when you look up the word.)
But I didn't really have time to go somewhere out of the rain, because J. and I were driving up to the other town to watch the game. It was, as previously mentioned, dark and dreary, even though it was only 10 am, and I wanted functioning headlights to drive up the country highway. (Plus a burned out headlight is like giving the cops permission to invade your privacy rights by stopping you and turning the stop into a search of your car. Even if you have nothing to hide, why invite that? Erm. Criminal procedure talking, much?)
So I pulled up the hood on my jacket, and J. sat in the passenger seat with the door open, the car's manual in one hand and the new light in the other, careful not to touch the glass.
I struggled with the hood. (I always struggle with the hood. It's the silly latch that holds it down even after you pop it up, and it's too far underneath to see which way it needs to move to release the hood.)
Then I ran back and forth a few times to check the manual, and then wah lah! Two perfectly functioning headlights. I feel so competent when I manage to fix my car all on my own.