I don't need your stinkin' nickel.

I can run out to my car, in the cold and rain, and get my own, thankyouverymuch.

The stuff ephiphanies are made of.

Thus began my epiphany, Sunday afternoon, at this 7-Eleven:

Where an epiphany is free with your Dr. Pepper Big Gulp.

I stopped there on my way to Reagan's to watch Mizzou lose. (Not hating on the Tigers, I had on my Mizzou shirt. But they lost anyway.) Anyway, back to my epiphany. Whenever I run in somewhere to get a Dr. Pepper from a fountain, I bring in the following: five quarters, two dimes, one nickel and four pennies. (Sometimes I bring in a dollar bill and only one quarter.) So I can pay in exact change* and not collect more pennies. Well, today, I thought I had five quarters but I only had four. My extra-large Dr. Pepper rung up at $1.34. Once I realized I was short, I said, "Oh, hold on! I have to get more change from my car." To which the completely unoffensive, non-lecherous, rather mundane-looking man next to me responded, "How much are you short? I have tons of change." Which he did. But I for some reason thought it necessary to dash for the door, calling over my shoulder, "Oh, it's fine, I have tons of change in my car!" Which I did. However, I thought it more reasonable to run outside to my car (did I mention it was cold and rainy?) to get a nickel, forcing the aforementioned man to wait while I did so before he could be rung up, just so that I would not have to accept assistance.

Of course, I realized how unreasonable I was as I left 7-Eleven. Why couldn't I take five cents from a stranger? It was not offered in a manner that made me think the man questioned whether I actually had five more cents or whether I was dashing out in embarassment, never to return for my soda. He had a handful of change, so it wasn't like I was worried that the man couldn't spare me a nickel. It was a simple case of one person being nice to another. AND I COULDN'T LET HIM BE NICE TO ME. He wasn't lecherous. Pretty sure he didn't expect anything in return for his nickel. He wasn't dirty or smelly or anything that would inspire repugnance and he seemed to have all his teeth. I just couldn't let someone help me.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn't help but wonder how the hell I became so eaten up with maintaining independence that I couldn't bring myself to accept five fucking cents from someone. It's not like I think I don't deserve it. I leave pennies in the Take-a-Penny-Leave-a-Penny bowls. Sometimes I even leave dimes. I have totally given someone near me in line change to make up for what they are short, so it's not like I have anything against random acts of kindness toward strangers!

I mean, let's face it, at the moment my income consists solely of student loans and the occasional handout from the folks, and while I did have a real full-time job for two years, I have never considered myself "financially independent." Yet I pride myself on being "independent."

Then I started thinking of all the other unreasonable things I do to assert my so-called independence:

• I refuse to let anyone help me carry out my 40-pound bag of dog food at PetSmart, nor do I use a cart, even if I also round out my trip with several other treats and toys.
  
• I refused to let my mom have a plumber come fix my toilet, which ran constantly for at least two months until the water bill got so high that I started turning the water to the toilet off after every flush which was a pain when my mom, my sister and my two nieces spent a week visiting last summer. (In my defense, after they left I went and bought the $20 part and fixed it myself, which probably saved at least $100 that a plumber would have charged for labor. Plus I kind of felt like a bad-ass because it required more than just replacing the stopper ball, which is what I had been telling everyone all summer but no one believed me, not even the man at Lowe's. Normally I like Lowe's, but this man clearly thought I was a dumb little girl and I ended up arguing with him over what my toilet pump looked like until I finally got frustrated, went home, took a picture of the inside of my toilet tank and went to Home Depot where the man knew what I was talking about without my even having to show him the picture.)
  
• I spent an entire weekend raking and filling 80 bags of leaves last fall rather than just paying the neighbor kid to keep up with it over the course of the two preceding months. I could hardly move on Monday morning.

I am sure I could think of more, but I am starting to see a pattern. An anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better kind of pattern. Mostly it seems I refuse the help of men, or maybe when anything that is stereotypically something a man would take care of is involved. Perhaps I would have taken the nickel from a woman? Or perhaps a woman would have been more insistent that I take it, or would have just handed it to me or the clerk, thereby removing my chance to refuse? Is it the fact of the help being offered in and of itself or is it from whence the help cometh?

Come to think of it, the last time I can remember asking** a man for help, I was about three. (And I don't so much remember this as my parents have pictures proving it happened.) I asked my dad to help me put ALL of my little Goody barrettes in my hair. I had a big mason jar full of them, so there was a lot of barrette happening on my head. We're talking crayons and sheep and hearts and ducks and probably Christmas trees, just to name a few. Did I mention they came in pairs? Like I said, a lot was happening. And for the record, I looked sooo pretty when we were done.***

What I have learned:

1. I should pare down my neuroticism and just grab a random handful of change. Better yet, just put it on a card.


2. When a person offers assistance and I find myself about to refuse, I should pause and ask myself whether accepting proffered assistance will indebt me such that that sexual favors, drugs, or my services as a housewife or an assassin (personally, these are equally to be avoided) are expected in return. If not, seriously consider accepting.


3. It's probably okay to accept a nickel from a stranger at 7-Eleven.


4. Goody barrettes rock my face off.


5. I like the word "epiphany."
   

*This clearly only works for anything $1.54 or less. Do the math in your head. And yes, I do realize that I am likely obsessive compulsive with neurotic tendencies, and I'm fine with that.

**However, as my dear friend explains so well, while it is true that I may not always accept help, I feel perfectly justified in getting all sorts of pissed off when it's not offered at all.

***I will post a picture of the results next time I am home. You'll see. My 3-year-old fabulousness will overwhelm you.