Not a Man...in the traditional sense

I have discovered that I don't like doing things that most people would call "manly."
I don't work on cars or repair things that are broken. I strongly believe there are people who God gifted with the ability and desire to fix all sorts of different objects, so in a way, if I were to want to repair them myself, I would be taking away some joy in someone's life.
Also, I am fat.
I'm not saying that in the "Oh, feel sorry for me because I am insecure." No. I am very secure. I also am aware of my larger-than-normal stomach (that seems most pronounced whenever I am trying to look nice.) So, as a fat man, I obviously don't like doing too much because I get sweaty and tired and cranky. I am am much less sweaty, tired and cranky when I am just sitting down or eating...hence my fluffy exterior.
The other day, I picked up my lovely wife, Sarah, and her co-worker from the airport after a business trip. We took her co-worker home and Sarah offered me as a bell-hop and said I would carry the girl's bags up the stairs. I didn't recall ever offering this myself so I was confused as to why Sarah would think this would be something I would like to do.
As I carried the girl's bags up the stairs, Sarah made another discovery. The girl's car had a flat tire. And then it happened.
You know those moments where you vocal chords and mouth act entirely on their own and your brain can't stop it. That happened to me as I said, "I could help you change it if you want."
Why in God's green earth would I say something like that? To this day I do not know what evil being took control over me for that small moment, but it happened.
I was hoping she would do the friendly thing and say, "No, that's okay. I have AAA."
That didn't happen.
She looked at me and said, "Wow, that's awesome. I will get the keys and we can get out the spare and tools."
Now before this moment I had only changed one tire. And by changed the tire, I mean sat next to my friend and watched him do it and almost had my foot crushed when the car fell off the jack. By the way, my one job was to set up the jack.
Well somehow, I managed to remember most of what you are supposed to do and didn't do too badly. I did scratch the girls car almost every time I turned the tire iron, however.
I managed to survive with dirt on my hands and a shirt that looked like it was painted on because I was sweating profusely. Afterwords, my sweet Sarah said, "See, aren't you glad you did that, my man?"
No. No, I wasn't. It confirmed everything I believe about working on stuff that I have no business working on. I took the joy away from some mechanic who would have loved to change that tire and wouldn't have put a scratch on the car.
However, working on the car did cause me to write this story, which is something that I enjoy doing, so I guess it all comes full circle. Sometimes you have to do something you hate so you can do something you enjoy.
P.S.
Ladies, I am not a terrible husband. I clean up around the house and do the laundry. I have also recently learned how to boil water, so I'm on my way to being a cook and a full-fledged house-husband.