I let my husband drive my car once a week.
You read that right.
I LET him drive MY car.
Whatever. Yes, I’m a bitch. If you’re not one of the 12 people who knows my life, you’re really not qualified to judge this car issue.
So anyway, a few weeks ago, I was drivin Bonnie Blue around, doin some errands, and I realized that the thingamabobber said I had like 20 miles of fuel left. I thought I’d be nice and fill her up before The Mister took her the following day. He always fills up my car, because I’m a bad feminist and he spoils me.
I knew he’d appreciate a full fuel tank. Plus, I could pick up some ice. It’d be two fewer things for him to do, and I wanted to perform this kindness. Because, you know, doing things for him makes me seem romantic, which I am not, but his love language is what’s important here.
So I stopped at the gas station. There was a line. Moo said stuff about how she thought I was doing it wrong, but in typical Moo fashion, she didn’t have the right words to convey her knowledge. Like any other self-righteous mother would, I reminded her I had a car before, y’know. And also, for all the time her daddy was gone, I filled my minivan up just fine, y’know.
I waited for a very long time to get to the pump. Then I got out, only to discover the fuel door was on the other side. That’s when I realized what Moo had been tryin to say.
Not one to miss out on being right, Moo said, “I told you!”
“Ah, yes. I see now what you meant.”
I pulled forward to back into the other side, but someone else drove right in and took the spot. Well of course they did. Why wouldn’t they? I mean, I got back in my car and pulled forward. There was no way to signal that I was going to the other pump.
I decided to go park and send Sassy in to get ice. Then I would maneuver back to the pumps, this time on the right side to fill up.
Well, unlike every other place ever, this place doesn’t keep their ice in a chest outside. I watched my child exit the building, walk all around, go back inside, walk around, walk back to the cashier, walk around, and finally, emerge with two bags of ice.
I pulled out of the parking space and went back to the pump. There was another fucking line. I waited another really long time. I chose the worst possible side, because the ones on the other side emptied out faster.
It was uncanny. My timing, my choices — Ugh! Acts of service is like, so much harder than “You look hot in those basketball shorts.”
Eventually, I put gas in Bonnie Blue.
I said to The Mister, “I filled the car up and bought ice so you don’t have to do that tomorrow.”
He thought that was sweet and I got a kiss. GOOOOOOOOOOAL!
Of course Moo wasted no time in telling him how she knew I was doin it wrong.
Then I got a lesson.
I love a good lesson.
The gas gauge actually tells you where your fuel door is.
Did you know that?!?
The Mister said stuff about the side the fuel gauge is on tells you and then he said newer cars have arrows. I was all like, “Wha?!?”
This is Bonnie Blue’s gas gauge
Do you see the arrow?
Pshaw, and I think I’m perceptive.
I had no idea.
Now, I know I don’t know a lot. The more I learn, the more I’m aware of how much I don’t know…But honestly, I’ve developed a small obsession for wondering what else I don’t see, literally, right in front of my face.
Did you know about the secret language of fuel gauges? Have you learned anything completely obvious lately?