Replaced all of the brake lines today and in the process broke three nails. As I looked down at my grubby hands and the nailbeds packed with blackness, I had to say I was proud. Sure, all those girly girls with their fake french manicured hands look nice as they stroll around the parking lots, but they will never learn to love the smell of gasonline, carb cleaner, and fast orange. They might as well occupy a parking space themselves and wait for passers by to ooh and ahh. I would much rather be the girl behind the wheel and under the hood, and who cares if I get black under my uneven and unvarnished nails...thats what pockets were made for. When the real car guys shake my hand or see me give them the thumbs up, they'll see the black under my nails and the cracked skin on my fingertips, and they'll know Im the real deal.

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