Why is there never enough gas in my car? I swear the gas fairy takes it out my car while I sleep. Let me set the scene. I swore many years ago after a very embarrassing moment with a police officer that I would always put clothes on (bathrobes don't count) when driving children to school and I have been damn good about that until last week....
Now that Chelsea has her driver's license, a few days a week I let her drive to school and then I hop over into the driver's seat and drive off. I know this fascinates the "parking monitor" who watches me in amazement as I bend myself into a pretzel and roll into the other seat. I've perfected this so I don't have to exit the car in front of the high school wearing the "outfit". So as I am driving out of the parking lot, I notice the gas light is on and by observing the "needle" buried below the E, I realize I do not have enough gas to get home. I now have two options...
I can turn this car around and enter the high school campus and retrieve Chelsea so she could pump my gas, thus risking running into staff and heaven forbid her friends who otherwise think I am a normal human being. That option might just scar Chelsea for life....that and enduring the endless ridicule of having a troll for a mother or I could just suck it up and pump the gas myself.
So I choose my second option. I will just drive to the closest gas station, hide behind my car which is not hard to do when you are only 5 feet tall and pump my gas. I arrive at the station and strategically park at the farthest pump away from the station. I jump out and then realize, I don't have my ATM card to swipe at the pump, it is in the back pocket of the jeans I was wearing last night which are now in a heap on my bedroom floor. CRAP, CRAP, CRAP. I am now going to have to walk the walk of shame INTO the gas station.
Let me describe the "outfit". Grey sweat pants that cut off at the knee, baggy black t shirt with no bra, (that item of clothing is next to the aforementined jeans), bedhead hair with not one, but two bird nests from last night's hairspray, not an ounce of makeup, and morning breath that would stop a charging buffalo at 50 feet. Oh yeah, and I am barefoot. This is what one looks like when they take 49 seconds to get ready in the morning and hop in a car still rubbing sleep from their eyes.
The only cash I have is the loose change in the ash tray. It totals $1.92.
Please Lord, don't let me see anyone I know. I am begging you. (did I mention my town is about the size of Mayberry?) So me and my $1.92 enter the store. Have you ever tried to mumble....."$1.92 on pump 12 please" with out letting your dragon breath escape your mouth and then throw your grimey change on the counter and run? Do you know what type of clientele is at the gas station at that time of day? Construction workers, plumbers, electricians and commuters. I slink out of that gas station. I don't even have a pair of friggin sunglasses to hide the hideousness. If only I could be invisible. I pumped that $1.92 as fast as possible and rolled quietly out of the gas station.
At least I wasn't wearing a bathrobe this time....that my friends is an entirely different blog post about a policeman, an elementary school and a black hefty bag.
My lack of dignity never ceases to amaze me.
Ok Blogland,
