Breaking the Man Code- In a Big Way

I found a female checker with no men in line. I looked around as she took my purchase and scanned it. I felt I had to explain.
"I moved three or four times, and lost mine."
"Oh, lots of people buy them."
She just didn't get it. Here I was, 60 years old, buying (brace yourself) a hammer!

Who doesn't have a simple hammer? Oh, I have a rubber hammer, and a plastic one for tapping in bearings and such, but no claw hammer. If I'd have gone to a male checker, he would probably have thrown me out of the store.
I slunk off and sat in the truck and cried. Wiped my nose on my skirt. How could I get like this? Now's the time for the real confession. When I've needed a hammer lately, I've borrowed one from (really brace yourself this time) my daughter! I need to go to a WA meeting (wieners anonymous).
Shoot, my father-in-law has tools. Old tools. Really old tools. He would hold up a screwdriver. "This was given to my dad by Davy Crockett." I don't own a single tool older than the Second World War.
At least I have a hammer now. And it's a nice one, for sure. Rubber handle, glued on head, extended metal on  the handle to avoid damage from missing nails, the works. Great tool. I should go back to Lowe's (product placement there) and get a ball peen hammer too.
But these heels are killing me.