March 13 Editorial

My husband and I have two cars. There is generally one that I drive and one that he drives but sometimes we trade off depending on who is taking care of our seemingly weekly visits to the vet for one of our billion fur babies. There is one thing that pretty much never changes, though. No matter which car I use, my husband has almost always left it without gas.
You would think that by now I’d have learned to build a little extra time in my day to take the car that he left without gas and fill it up, but for some reason it always surprises me. Yesterday while running late (as usual) for an appointment, I ran to the garage, jumped in my car, and was greeted with a bright shiny gas light and a “ding ding ding” reminding me that I had only enough gas to take me 18 miles.
The last time I had driven my own car it had over a quarter of a tank left, plenty to get me where I needed to be before it was urgent that I fill up. Angry, I thought about getting out, going back inside, and taking my husband’s truck thinking that maybe his tank wasn’t quite as low, but I was already late and by the time I did all of that I could just go to the gas station.
As I headed towards the nearest pump, I called him to express my disapproval of his irresponsible move to which he responded, “Oops. I thought I left more than that in it. Sorry.” I told him he owed me big time, hung up the phone, and began to plot my revenge as I rushed to continue with my day.
After my appointment (which I was fifteen minutes late for), I checked my cell phone which had been on silent for nearly two hours. It had been flooded with missed calls, all from my husband who sounded even more desperate in his text messages. “Please call me ASAP. I need your help.”
In a panic, thinking something tragic had happened, I immediately called him and said, “What happened? Is everything okay?” He angrily replied, “No. I ran out of gas. I’ve been trying to call you for an hour. Come get me.” I really ticked him off when I busted out in uncontrollable laughter and said, “That karma sure is a funny gal.”
After promising to come and rescue him from the parking lot where he had found himself stranded, I realized that in my insanely rushed morning due to his apparent gas gauge dyslexia, I hadn’t even had time for lunch. My stomach was grumbling, so I decided to “fill my tank” with a little Chic-fil-a.
After lunch, I was craving a Frappuccino from Starbuck’s. I knew in my heart it wasn’t right to keep him waiting, but my head told me that this was sweet revenge for not only this morning, but the time that my infrared key sensor failed and I ended up stranded for four hours at the end of Fort Pickens Road in the dead of August because he didn’t hear me calling….700 times. I ended up having to call a tow truck. The driver brought me a bottle of water so that I didn’t die from heat exhaustion. The thought of this debacle angered me all over again.
I sipped on my cool, delicious beverage as I slowly creeped through the parking lot where my husband stood with his hands on his hips. “Where in the heck have you been,” he said. “I got really hungry. Then I got really thirsty,” I replied. His face wrinkled up when he said, “Did you just forget that I was out here stranded with no gas?” I knew I was pushing it when I casually said, “Nope.”
A few minutes later we had filled his tank with enough gas to get it cranked, and we were about to be on our way. I knew he was still mad at me, and frankly I was still a little peeved at his irresponsibility. I hugged him and tried to make him laugh when I said sarcastically, “Did you learn anything today?” He simply replied in a mocking tone, “Nope.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes marriage is an uphill battle. I just hope we have enough gas in the tank to keep climbing.