Tuesday, November 23, 2010

UnEasy Like Sunday Morning

Good Morning Readers,

I thought I'd take a second while waiting for the plumber (yes, there's delicious poop water in my laundry room again.), to tell you a little story about what happens when one forgets to fill up her gas tank and the inevitable circumstances that generally follow such a rookie mistake.
     I'd like to preface this story by letting you know that the gas gauge in my car is actually broken. It's husband and I's fault for purchasing the vehicle in this condition, but as it was a great deal and shoving two babies unbuckled into the back of a sports car that technically doesn't have a backseat is generally frowned upon anywhere other than the Appalachian mountains, we decided to take it home. We considered the convenience of actually knowing how much fuel we have in our car a minor sacrifice for the the spaciousness we were about to acquire.

     As we drove off the lot, our plan was simple. We'd set the odometer, and anytime we reached 200 miles...time to fill up. Easy enough. Yes well, easy if you're anyone else besides me. I'm generally pretty responsible about most things, but as of late, I'd been taking some liberties with exactly how much gas there happened to be in my tank. I mean, it was broken right? Even though husband and I clearly read that it was over 200 as we climbed in to head for mass this past Sunday, I just knew I'd pushed it all the way to 265 before (eh em...we both had...just in case you're reading this.) I assured him that we'd be fine to get to church and we'd fill up after. I mean, I wasn't going to run into mass late just because we needed gas right? Hell just might have a special circle reserved for people like that.
     We might as well flash forward to the sad sight of a family of four stranded on the side of the highway...just a couple miles from home mind you. As the steering wheel had locked up, and I watched as a helpless anger crept over my soulmate's face, I knew, in that moment, that the next hour or so was going to be uncomfortable. I was right.
     It was an hour I'd rather not relive anytime soon. After letting two babies climb all over him during mass, my poor husband had been driving home with visions of relaxing to the football game dancing in his head.  Now, he was stranded on the side of the road. After a few mumbled comments that sounded distinctly like "this is stupid" and "who runs out of gas?", a silence set in....A silence that suggests that the Apocalypse suddenly snuck in the back door, and every human for miles has been dead for weeks...
    In an attempt to find a secure position, so as not to be sniped at, I army crawled my way to the backseat in order to keep my son quiet. This proved a little difficult due to the passing cars rocking the suv back and forth. I did venture to remove him from his carseat, but as a stressed voice from the front seat cautioned that doing this would end in the untimely death of our infant, I quickly put him back.
     In the end, my Father in Law rescued us from our predicament and we made it home in time for both the game and for me think about the importance of a full tank. Dually noted. Well, readers, I've gotta run. My best of the Carpenters play list has run out, and I have to let the plumber in.

Until Next Time!