Running Out of Gas, Running To the Airport
Whoo boy, did I screw up yesterday. J was leaving for Northern California to give a presentation (she's the industrious one) and I was, as always, her designated chauffeur. Miss Zoe doesn't like it when we leave for the airport together -- she recognizes the luggage and knows Momma's gonna be gone for a least a day or two -- and once even broke a window with her snout in her displeasure. So, J was beginning to recite her loooong list of things she needed and had packed (underwear: check, sunglasses: check, etc) as I ushered her out the door. I didn't want us standing inside with Zoe and the luggage while she did this, as Zoe was beginning to make "crazy face", which would only lead to dire circumstances down the road.
Anyhow, we climb in to my sweet-azz '91 Volvo and are driving to the airport when I casually remark, "Hey, my gas pedal has been doing this funky thing where I push down and it doesn't move." About a minute after that, we're idling at a red light and kaput, system failure. I look at the gas gauge and that sucker -is- in the red, but in my defense it's closer to the top of the red than the bottom, and definitely not underneath the red. And I always drive in the red! And there was no fuel light that came on either! But yes, for the first time in my looong, looong life, I ran out of gas. Doh! So I quickly flipped on the hazards, Jen steered and I pushed the Volvo to the nearest parking spot (Volvos are heavy!)
to be continued....